


Dark Literature

by UnproblematicMe



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Ex-lovers to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Getting Back Together, Halloween story, Human Au but supernatural occurences, M/M, Rough Sex, Spooky and Smutty, consensual degrading dirty talk, haunted building, past break up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:48:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 51,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26901640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnproblematicMe/pseuds/UnproblematicMe
Summary: Anthony J. Crowley, part owner of a large publishing company, is not happy when his partners hire his ex-lover Aziraphale Fell as an editor. Aziraphale does not exactly find the situation ideal either, but he needs the job. The two former lovebirds have to set their problems with each other aside when something dark and old awakes in the building they work in.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 240
Kudos: 247
Collections: Top Crowley Library





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's spooky month and I wanted to try a Halloween themed story. It's a human AU with a getting back together side plot because I wanted to. ;) I cannot make any promises when it comes to regular updates. I'll try my best to not make you wait too long, but currently my whole family is quarantined and I'm living in a madhouse. ;)

From an outside perspective it must have looked rather ridiculous: Anthony J. Crowley, partner of Ether & Abyss, one of the largest publishing companies in the world, was in his own office and still peeked out into the corridor through the closed jalousie like a thief who was waiting for a security guard to pass.

But he was not hiding from security. He was making a fool of himself. And if usually suave and slick Crowley made a fool of himself, it was usually due to one man: Aziraphale Fell.

Aziraphale was walking along the corridor towards the elevator, deep in conversation with Gabriel. Crowley could not help but wonder what they were talking about and why Aziraphale was here. Like the other authors, he only on rare occasions showed up in person. In fact it was a little miracle that Crowley ever had met Aziraphale. But he had, three years ago, due to a broken coffee machine.

_Crowley‘s mood was not the best. A fresh coffee was an important part of his morning ritual therefor his espresso machine‘s defiance had darkened his day just as it had begun. He was no fan of the coffee available in the office building, but the cheap dark liquid from the machines was better than no coffee._

_His eyes were on his phone as he sauntered towards the snack corner in the lobby, but when he finally looked up, he was presented a nice view on a very nice arse: round, plush and inviting. A blond man dressed in an old-fashioned tartan ensemble was bent down at one of the vending machine’s, apparently studying the output tray._

_“Accursed machine,” he spoke with a sweet voice, before softly mumbling to himself, “Now one doesn’t even get the courtesy of being robbed by real humans.”_

_After checking his reflection in the large glass ceiling, Crowley put on his most charming smirk and walked over to the man._

_“Problems?” Crowley asked and pulled his dark glasses to the tip of his nose so he could seductively look at the stranger. Unfortunately the elegant move went unnoticed as the man was still focused on the machine. Crowley made a virtue of this necessity and took the chance to study the man’s handsome profile. He had a cute nose and pretty pink lips which were currently pouting at the vending machine._

_“Indeed,” he answered, frowning at the empty tray. “This electronic criminal took my money but kept my candy bar.”_

_“Scandalous,” Crowley said with exaggerated indignation. “I will not stand for attractive people being robbed on my watch.”_

_At that the man’s head finally snapped towards Crowley and Crowley stared into the most beautiful pair of eyes he had ever seen: large, deep blue and warm. A slight blush tinted the man’s cheek, probably thanks to the blunt compliment, but he held Crowley’s gaze._

_“Well, my dear,” he said primly. “Unless you are an expert in mechanics and/or electronics you will hardly be able to do something about it.”_

_Crowley’s smirk widened. Without taking his eyes of the other man, he gave the machine a firm kick, trying his best to make it seem casual. When a “clonk” sounded in the tray, Crowley grinned even wider, mainly to mask the expression of pain threatening to spread on his face. Kicking the machine had hurt more than anticipated. But at least it had worked._

_The man took his candy bar and gratefully smiled at Crowley._

_“And they say violence is never the answer,” the man said dryly while a mischievous smile tugged at the corner of his mouth._

_“’They’ don’t know me apparently,” Crowley said, took off his glasses and put them in the pocket of his leather jacket. Then he stretched out his hand. “Anthony J. Crowley.”_

_The man blushed again, but took the offered hand with a timid smile. It was adorable._

_“Aziraphale Fell,” he introduced himself, but then he paused. His face took on a thoughtful expression and then lit up. “Anthony Crowley! Your name was on one of the doors upstairs. Next to Mr. Ether’s office.”_

_“You know Gabriel?”_

_“Erm, yes, I signed a book contract this morning,” Aziraphale answered._

_“Oh, you must be good then,” Crowley said, truly impressed. “Usually he delegates this kind of stuff to me or Bee, erm, I mean Ms. Byss.”_

_Flustered, Aziraphale smiled._

_“Oh, that… is nice to hear,” he said. “I wasn’t aware. I’m very new to this.”_

_With a charming wink Crowley leant against the vending machine and looked down on Aziraphale._

_“How about that?” he all but purred. “You let me buy you breakfast and I let you in on aaaaaall the secrets of Ether &Abyss publishing?”_

_By now Aziraphale’s cheeks were deep red and his shy nod was barely noticeable._

_“Th… that sounds nice,” he answered and took the offered arm._

Oh! Now Aziraphale did the wiggle. Crowley loved the wiggle. His ex-lover’s beautiful behind and his lovely thighs were in motion which meant Gabriel had said something delightful. That could be a lot. Aziraphale found the strangest things delightful. There! Again. Crowley bit his lip to stop himself from moaning.

“It’s been a while for you, huh?”

With an undignified shriek Crowley spun around, only to shriek again when he saw someone standing only inches away from him.

“Bee! For the love of… Can’t you knock?” he said while trying to catch his breath.

“I did. Three times,” Bee answered. “I thought you fell asleep and that’s why you didn’t hear me. But you were just busy leering at Fell.”

“I wasn’t leering.”

“Sure, whatever. The first drafts for the new advertisement campaigns are in.”

“Hmmhmm, okay.” Crowley’s attention was already focused on Aziraphale again.

Bee sighed.

“Maybe you could take your eyes off your ex’s butt for this?”

“I physically cannot.”

“It would be helpful if you actually _saw_ the drafts, you know?”

“Why is he even here?”

“What? Who?”

“Aziraphale, of course,” Crowley said, still stealing looks through the slats.

“Ah, right. That. We hired Fell as an editor. He works here now.”

Lightning fast Crowley spun around and narrowed his eyes at Bee.

“You’re kidding.”

Bee pointed at herself.

“Not my kidding face, Crowley.”

Groaning Crowley let himself fall into his desk chair.

“So you tell me now that you already hired him?” he snapped at Bee.

“Actually I didn’t tell you because I forgot on Friday, had no time on Saturday and didn’t want to ruin my Sunday with your whining. Well, and this morning it was too late. You would have agreed anyway.”

“Would I now? And why?”

*

Nodding and smiling, nodding and smiling. Aziraphale knew this by now. The important part of their meeting was done, but Gabriel had a way of expanding every conversation by jumping along topics like a squirrel among the trees. And like a squirrel would in the end find its home tree, Gabriel would find a way of talking about himself sooner or later. Right now it was about some accomplishment he made on Sunday in sports. Golf maybe, or cricket. Aziraphale was not really listening, just enough to nod and smile – and now and again make an appropriate noise.

When they left the office, Aziraphale could not help glancing at the door next to Gabriel’s. The blinds were closed but for a moment Aziraphale thought he saw a small movement. Probably just wishful thinking. Or fearful thinking? He was not sure if he wanted Crowley to come out of his office. Probably not. At best there would be an awkward smile and a short greeting, at worst an angry glare and cold silence.

Both were hurtful thoughts. It always hurt, thinking about Crowley and how it had ended. Actually, thinking about the good times hurt as well because they were gone. Aziraphale should have known, really. The moment he had seen Crowley, everything inside him had screamed “not for you”. Too handsome, too charming, too suave. Anyone would have seen that a plain, awkward, fussy bookworm like Aziraphale was not the type of this kind of man. But Crowley had appeared to disagree and for a while it had worked.

No, no crying now! Not in front of Gabriel and the whole top floor. It had been six months, time to be an adult about it. They arrived at the elevator so he would be out of here soon.

Suddenly Gabriel had that tone that indicated a shift in topic so Aziraphale forced himself to pay attention.

“We’ll have to improvise with your work space,” Gabriel said.

“How so?”

“Our editors are usually on the 13th, but the floor is closed.”

“Superstition?” Aziraphale joked.

“No, no!” Gabriel laughed. “Maintenance. The lights didn’t work properly, the pipes made weird noises and the water would come out dirty or not run at all.”

“I see. Yes, I’d rather have working toilets near my work space.”

“And you will. Unfortunately we could not rent an additional floor in the building so some people have to share. You’ll be in the office of Miss Device.”

“Anathema?” Aziraphale asked with a broad smile and a happy wiggle. That was good news. Aziraphale always was anxious with new people so it was great to start off with someone he already knew. And he really liked Anathema. She had designed the covers for 4 of his 5 books and was pleasant to work with. Willing to compromise but not a pushover.

“She is happy, too,” Gabriel grinned. “When I told her she had to share, she was not amused. But as soon as I mentioned your name, the murderous expression left her face.”

The elevator arrived and Gabriel gestured for Aziraphale to step in.

“I have an appointment now, but you just need to go two down to the 14th and then...”

“I was in Anathema’s office before.”

“Right, of course!” Gabriel said, clasping his hands. “Glad to have you.”

“Thanks!”

Aziraphale gave a small smile as a good bye while Gabriel waved until the elevator doors were closed. Grateful for the awkward situation to be over, Aziraphale let himself fall against the wall of the lift. What was he doing? Sure, Ether & Abyss occupied four floors of the building which made it unlikely to run into Crowley on a daily basis. But the whole building reminded Aziraphale of his Ex. He could not even walk by _outside_ without memories flooding his mind.

_“Come on, angel,” Crowley said. “It’s gonna be fun!”_

_He wildly gestured towards the office building, trying to persuade Aziraphale to follow him in._

_“Office parties are really not my thing, dear,” Aziraphale answered in a pleading voice. “Actually, parties are not my thing.”_

_“Then we make them your thing! It’s great. They decorated the complete 13 th floor and ordered a pirate themed buffet.”_

_“Pirate themed?”_

_“Well, actually it’s just a normal buffet, but they stick little Black Jacks into some pieces of food,” Crowley shrugged. “But it’s still great. Please, honey! You’ll like it.”_

_“I don’t want to go.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“It’s… when I show up there with you…,” Aziraphale blushed, “…everybody is already thinking I only got the contract because I date you.”_

_Crowley laughed._

_“Actually, they think you dated Gabriel to get the contract and I snatched you afterwards,” he joked._

_“Not funny.”_

_“Angel.” With a heavy sigh Crowley put his arms around Aziraphale. “We literally met just after you signed the contract, right?”_

_Aziraphale nodded silently._

_“You know that and I know that,” Crowley said._

_Sighing Aziraphale hid his face in the slope of Crowley’s neck. Muffled he said, “Yes, but the others…”_

_“Who cares?” Crowley stroke through Aziraphale’s hair. “You know that you are a great writer and that is the reason you got the deal. And I know that you have no reason to date me but the fact that I’m handsome, charming, smart, funny and generously endowed.”_

_Aziraphale shook his head before lifting it to look at Crowley._

_“Humble,” he said sardonically. “You forgot humble.”_

_“I didn’t forget, sweetheart, I left it out because I didn’t want to boast.”_

_For a moment they just stared at each other before they both burst out in laughter. They pressed their foreheads together and Aziraphale took a deep breath._

_“You’re right,” he finally said with determination. “It doesn’t matter what they believe. As long as we know.”_

_“Exactly!” Crowley nodded. “And we do.”_

Aziraphale sighed. There was no use fretting. He needed the extra money. He could not complain about his book sales, but with the new situation it was not enough to cover his expenses. At least that way he got to keep his favourite books. It would have been stupid to turn down Gabriel’s generous offer. Maybe with time the effect of the building would wear off. Until then he would have to hope to manage avoiding Crowley.

The elevator’s friendly sound announced his arrival on the 14th floor and he quickly stepped out to go to his new work space.

Anathema’s office was a bit like herself. Very pleasant to look at despite the chaos inside. And just like its occupant it gave you the feeling that there was more to it than you could see at first glance.

Right now Anathema’s face was hidden behind a curtain of long black hair while she was leaning down to look at her drawing board. But as soon as Aziraphale knocked lightly at the open door, she turned to face him. At once a warm smile build on her face and her chocolate coloured eyes lit up. With fast steps she crossed her office to greet Aziraphale, her long dark skirt rustling with her movement. She took Aziraphale's hands in hers and shook them, full of excitement.

“Hello, Aziraphale!” she said. “It’s going to be so much fun. I won’t lie: when Gabriel said I had to share, I thought about killing him. But sharing with you is fine, of course.”

“Oh, good.” Aziraphale returned her smile. “I would hate to be responsible for any murders.”

“Said the crime author,” she dead-panned as she pulled him through the room towards a desk near the window. She rolled her eyes and said, “The idiots put it on the other side first – bad vibes I can tell you so I told them to put it here.”

“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale said with a teasing smirk. “I wouldn’t want to work under ‘bad vibes’.”

Playfully she poked his arm.

“No, you wouldn’t so save your mockery, Mr. Fell,” he said, her eyes narrowed but her tone good natured. Then she continued with a sigh, “Not that I can do much more than damage control here. The whole building has a very dark feeling to it.”

“Has it now?” Shaking his head and casting Anathema a fond smile, Aziraphale sat down at his new desk.

“Indeed!” she insisted and stepped next to him to open one of the drawers, revealing several strange items. “But don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

Soon Aziraphale noticed that several objects of the kind as the ones in the drawer were also on Anathema’s desk: crystals of different colours, little figurines, lucky charms and other things some people used to ward of bad luck or Evil.

Sighing Aziraphale watched while Anathema deployed the little objects on his desk. She did so in a way which appeared random to him, but her thoughtful expression told him that there must be some sort of system to it.

Since he figured he would have enough room to work, he decided to indulge her. He knew she was a bit odd and believed in the supernatural. Aziraphale himself held a pretty agnostic position when it came to such things, but if it made her feel better to magically protect his desk, he would not stop her.

Patiently he listened to her explanation of what every piece did. The statue of an ugly cat apparently fought off sinister thoughts, a tin bowl with weird symbols helped the mind to focus on a specific task and a little bag with herbs kept away mischievous sprites.

“These two,” Anathema held up a white and a light-blue crystal, “are the most important ones.”

“I could tell immediately,” Aziraphale said before pressing his lips together to keep himself from laughing.

Of course Anathema noticed and elbowed him.

“Smartass,” she grumbled. “Anyway this one,” she waved with the light-blue crystal, “warns you when an evil spirit is nearby.”

“How? Does it make a sound or project a Bat-Signal to the ceiling?”

“Not sure,” Anathema admitted. “Even though I think I can rule out the latter.”

“Good, it’s not that Batman could do much against an evil spirit,” Aziraphale spoke in the most earnest tone he could muster.

“Very funny, Fell,” Anathema said. “Anyway, the other one wards evil entities off and…” she paused, looked towards the door and narrowed her eyes, “…it might be broken.”

Aziraphale followed her gaze and froze. In the door stood no other than Anthony J. Crowley himself, leaning against the wooden frame like a model and looking into the room over his dark glasses.

“Hey, ang… erm... Aziraphale,” he said. “Is she wasting your time with a lesson in charlatanism?”

Aziraphale was about to defend Anathema, but he should have known that Anathema was too confident and people making fun of her were too common, as for her to need his help.

She put on a saccharine smile and said, “Oh, that’s a big word for someone who didn’t know how to write or pronounce ‘nauseated’ until last week.”

“Pfff,” Crowley crossed his arms defensively. “I can’t be the only one who thought it had something to do with noses. Anyway,” he waved dismissively. “I’d like to talk to Aziraphale for a sec – alone.”

“Well, how is this gonna work with me right here?” Anathema asked, pretending to be confused.

Crowley slowly removed his glasses, cleared his throat and stepped closer.

“You _do_ know that I am technically your boss, right?” he asked, his voice and posture pretentious.

Not intimidated at all, Anathema held his gaze.

“You do know that I can technically shove my foot…”

“Anathema?” Aziraphale jumped up and put a hand on her shoulder. “Would you be a dear and get me a chocolate bar? You know how much the snack machine in the lobby hates me.”

For a moment Anathema hesitated.

“Fine,” she finally pressed out and, not taking her eyes of Crowley, walked past him. “But I won’t be long.”

“Thank you, dear,” Aziraphale called after her when she was out the door.

“I think she is warming up to me,” Crowley grinned, pointing after her with his thumb.

“What do you want, Crowley?” Aziraphale was determined to nip any unnecessary conversation in the bud.

“I… Bee told me about the bookshop,” Crowley said softly. “I’m sorry you had to give it up. Why didn’t you come to me? I could have…”

“I’m fine,” Aziraphale interrupted. “I did not go bankrupt if it’s that what you are thinking. Things were not going well for a while, so I decided to call a halt while I could still do so on my terms. I gave up business, but my savings were enough for a place with enough room for me and my books. I just need a regular job to eat and pay the bills. I’m fine.”

*

Aziraphale avoided Crowley’s gaze, but yet it was clear that he was lying. He was not fine. Maybe he was financially, now with the new job. But Crowley knew how important his shop was for him. Its loss must hurt him terribly.

“Aziraphale.” Crowley stepped closer, only the desk separating them now. “You don’t need to be pretend for me.”

At once Aziraphale’s head snapped up and he faced Crowley. The blue of his eyes was a stormy one all of a sudden and his brows were furrowed.

“Is that so, Crowley?” he asked, unnervingly calm.

Crowley swallowed. An onlooker may not understand Aziraphale’s reaction, but Crowley did. And he knew he deserved it.

_“Dear, I actually thought we would stay in tonight,” Aziraphale said._

_“I can see that!” Crowley barked out a laugh, gesturing over his boyfriend’s old-fashioned pyjamas. “But no problem. You’ll have some time. The club is no fun before eleven. Get changed. The dark blue jeans and the black shirt I bought you.”_

_He gestured towards Aziraphale’s bedroom before sauntering to the refrigerator to get himself a beer._

_“We were at the club last week, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I thought tonight we could relax. Dinner, some music, maybe a movie…”_

_“Nah,” Crowley cut him off, opening his bottle. “T’was a different club. And it was fun, wasn’t it?”_

_“Fun for you maybe,” Aziraphale mumbled._

_“Excuse me, love,” Crowley said irately between two swigs. “’Tis nobody’s fault but your own that you sat at the bar and stared in your glass instead of dancing.”_

_“Excuse me, love,” Aziraphale mimicked. “Maybe it’s not my idea of a fun evening to watch you flirt with every young man or woman on the dance floor.”_

_“Maybe I wouldn’t have to flirt with others if you weren’t such a terrible bore!” Crowley snapped and regretted it immediately._

_The fire in Aziraphale’s eyes died and gave way for pain. Aziraphale swallowed and was silent for an endless two seconds. When he finally spoke, it was in an eerie serene tone._

_“I’m very sorry that I ruin the free time of such a fascinating person like yourself by being so dull,” he said. “I suggest you find someone else to spend it with then. As fast as possible. You best leave right away.”_

_“Angel, that came out wrong, I…”_

_“Now.”_

“I… angel, I told you back then, I didn’t mean it… I…”

“We both know you absolutely meant it, Crowley,” Aziraphale said primly. “Maybe you regretted to let it slip, but you meant it.”

Crowley grew irritated.

“Why do you think you know better what I meant than I do?” he snapped.

“Let’s just say your words fitted the context too well as not to be taken seriously.”

“Oh, you’re gonna start waffling until I grow tired and admit you’re right?”

“Well, not all of us can win our fights by just being loud and flashy. Some of us must rely on their wits.”

“So now I’m stupid?”

“If this is the conclusion you want to draw.”

“How about you get off your high h…” Crowley started, but stopped himself. What was he doing? Aziraphale was hurt, understandably so – so he lashed out. Lashing back only made it worse. Crowley sighed. “That’s not what I came here for.”

He walked around the desk to stand right before Aziraphale. Carefully Crowley put a hand on his former lover’s shoulder.

“If you need anything, let me know, okay?” Crowley said. “I know the shop meant a lot to you and I cannot replace this. But anything else? Just ask.”

Without giving Aziraphale a chance to answer or before he could mess this up even more, Crowley left the office to once again hide in his own.

*

For a long moment Aziraphale was frozen. He had not meant to snap at Crowley, had surprised himself with his own hostility. Sighing he fell into his chair. If there had been any doubt that he was _not_ over Crowley yet, it had dissipated now. How else could Aziraphale explain how quickly he lost his composure?

Even more surprising was that Crowley had ended the fight before it would have escalated. He really had come to offer help and some comfort. A painful reminder of how sweet Crowley could be.

Aziraphale was mad at Crowley, but he knew that Crowley was not a bad person. A rich man’s son who was used for things to go his way? Yes. A bad person? No.

There was a reason Aziraphale had ignored his common sense and had fallen head over heels for Crowley. Oh, it had been so easy to fall for the illusion, so tempting to tell himself that “opposites attract” and for sure they would be compatible. If only they would compromise, they could make it work. Too bad compromising was not Anthony J. Crowley’s strong suit.

But now after looking once more into those beautiful eyes, feeling the warmth of Crowley’s body so close again and having this strong comforting hand on his shoulder, Aziraphale failed at pushing the sweet memories away.

_“Now come here, you ridiculous creature!” Crowley laughed. “We can eat the snacks right out of the bag – you know, like normal people.”_

_“There is nothing abnormal about being civilized, dear,” Aziraphale answered as he carried the bowls over to the living room table. While he went to get the mugs, he could basically feel Crowley roll his stunning golden-brown eyes even though Aziraphale had turned his back to him. He answered his boyfriend’s grin with a raised brow as he put them down on the table._

_“Of course, like all the civilized people carrying their dishes to the movie theatre so they can eat their popcorn from it”, Crowley teased and grabbed Aziraphale’s arm to pull him to his side on the sofa. “I’m shocked you didn’t bring spoons.”_

_“If I were to bring cutlery, I would have brought forks of course,” Aziraphale countered. “Unless you plan on making popcorn soup.”_

_Crowley kissed the tip of Aziraphale’s nose._

_“Weirdo,” he whispered fondly._

_“Savage,” Aziraphale gave back before brushing his lips against Crowley’s._

_They started the movie, cuddling close together. Aziraphale liked the film, but Crowley apparently did not. Instead of paying attention, he began to play with Aziraphale’s curls with his left hand while his right wandered along Aziraphale’s thighs. Several times Aziraphale swatted his lover’s hand away, but could not deny his manhood reacting to Crowley’s touch. Aziraphale bit his lip, trying to appear unfazed. However, he knew that Crowley knew because in the corner of his eye he could see the self-satisfied grin that had taken over the sharp features of the handsome face. Soon Aziraphale felt a warm hand at his chin, with mild force making him turn his head._

_Aziraphale stared directly into Crowley’s eyes and felt his cock twitch when he saw the widened pupils, black as the night, the irises only small golden brown rings around them._

_“How about we…,” Crowley shuffled closer, “change the plans for the evening, angel?”_

_Aziraphale pursed his lips and moved away as far as the long fingers holding his face allowed. He was not that easy – at least he tried telling himself this._

_“Well,” he said, nodding towards the screen. “I quite enjoy the movie.”_

_Smirking Crowley put his hand on Aziraphale’s knee and began gliding up the broad legs with the tip of his fingers._

_“No, lovely,” he purred. “I’m not buying it. This…,” he pointed at the light but growing bulge in Aziraphale’s pants, “…does not happen when one enjoys a movie. You’re enjoying something entirely different.”_

_Aziraphale blushed and cleared his throat._

_“My dear,” he answered, trying his best not to sound defensive. “This is just a natural reaction to the… groping you are subjecting me to. It doesn’t mean…”_

_Crowley surged forward. Aziraphale could barely squeal before his wrists were grabbed by two strong hands and his surprised noises muffled by hot lips. Instinctively Aziraphale’s eyes fluttered shut as his mouth was claimed in passion. Crowley was stronger than he looked and had Aziraphale effectively pinned beneath his lanky body. Demanding, his knees nudged against Aziraphale’s until the captured man finally gave in with a sigh. He spread his legs as wide as the couch allowed and Crowley slid his own between them while humming in contentment. All the while their lips never broke contact and the kiss had Aziraphale’s blood running hot, thundering in his ears, completely drowning out the movie which ran forgotten in the background._

_After a while they broke the kiss to breathe and Crowley took the opportunity to jump to his feet and undress himself. As he wiggled out of his tight pants, he pointed at Aziraphale._

_“Lose your clothes, angel,” he ordered. “I want you!”_

_Then he disappeared into the bathroom, probably getting the lube._

_Rolling his eyes at the commanding tone, but still obeying, Aziraphale got up and disrobed. He was half-done when he heard an impatient growl. In the next moment he was grabbed, pushed back to the couch and his remaining clothes were all but ripped of his body._

_“Crowley!”_

_“Too slow!” Crowley grinned before pulling Aziraphale into another searing kiss which chased away all of Aziraphale’s irritation._

_Moaning Aziraphale threw his head back when their erections brushed against each other while Crowley was busy sucking possessive marks into the skin of his lover’s neck._

_The noises from Crowley’s throat and the groans falling from his lips spoke of his frail patience, but still he took his time when it came to preparing Aziraphale. He was generous with the lube while he used his large dexterous hands to open his lover up. Starting off gently, Crowley carefully spread Aziraphale’s arse cheeks, circling around the puckered hole, before pushing in._

_Gradually Crowley increased the pace of his fingers fucking his boyfriend’s arse. He moved in and out, curling the nimble digits just so, thoroughly stretching and preparing the tight channel for what was to come. At one point Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat, he arched his back and let out a whimper. Crowley chuckled darkly. He had found Aziraphale’s prostate and now relentlessly stimulated it. Aziraphale’s eyes rolled back and fell shut, yet he could feel Crowley’s self-complacent grin._

_But he was far past the point of playing hard to get so he spread his legs wider and presented his throat, surrendering just like he knew Crowley loved._

_“Oh, yes,” Crowley whispered between ragged breathes. Growling he withdrew his fingers and crawled up Aziraphale’s body to attack the sensitive throat again with tongue and teeth._

_“Ready, angel?” he asked, his voice hoarse and dripping with need._

_“Yes.”_

_“Thank God.”_

_Aziraphale heard the familiar noise of the lube bottle again and soon after felt the slicked blunt head of Crowley’s cock, nudging against his entrance._

_“Crowley, please!”_

_“Please what?” came the amused question._

_“Fuck me!”_

_“Oh, that! With pleasure!” Crowley pushed in with a deep satisfied moan, answered by a similar sound from Aziraphale’s throat._

_Having Crowley inside him was always a glorious sensation. Aziraphale felt loved, desired and protected. Aziraphale neither wanted nor needed time to adjust. So he put his hands on Crowley’s shoulders and began rocking his hips._ _Of course Crowley understood and was obviously happy to oblige. He grabbed one of Aziraphale’s knees in order to spread his legs even further and started to move hard and fast. Another bruising kiss swallowed Aziraphale’s cry of pleasure and surprise as Crowley’s cock drove in deep._

_Crowley took Aziraphale wildly, but between passionate kisses and tender bites he whispered sweet words of love and encouragement into his lover’s ear. Lost to the moment and the sensations Aziraphale felt his pleasure built up quickly, his dripping cock caught between their bodies. Judging by Crowley’s frantic movements and greedy moans, he fared no better. And sure enough, when Aziraphale cried out and arched his back, cumming over his own stomach, Crowley followed suit. Aziraphale felt himself being filled up, hot and wet. Eagerly Crowley rode out his orgasm before finally collapsing on Aziraphale._

_“Oh God, angel,” he mumbled. “I love you.”_

_“I love you, too, dearest.”_

_“I noticed.”_

_Crowley peppered soft little pecks over Aziraphale’s face before finally capturing his lips in a tender kiss. They fell asleep like this, bodies joint and hands entwined. Their backs hurt in the morning, but neither of them doubted that it was worth it._

“I’ll kill him!” Anathema’s dark threat pulled Aziraphale back to reality.

“What? Who?”

“Are you kidding?” she asked. “Crowley of course!”

“Why?”

“Erm, because I left you alone with him for…” she looked at the clock on the wall, “11 minutes and 37 seconds and he already made you cry.”

Confused, Aziraphale touched his cheeks and was surprised to find them wet. Apparently he had gotten carried away, wallowing in the past.

“I… no, no. This is not his fault,” he hurried to say. “It is partly _because_ of him, but he did nothing wrong.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Anathema said dryly.

Aziraphale chuckled, “I know, right?” More serious, he added, “A lot happened since we last talked properly, dear. Let me tell you over lunch?”

“Sounds good.”

Together they decided on a nice new bistro Anathema had heard of. Chatting and laughing they left the office and entered the elevator. Deep in conversation, they barely noticed the rush of cold air as they passed the thirteenth floor. Unwittingly they pulled the lapels of their coats higher, but paid it no mind at all.


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m fine, really, Mr. Ether,” Aziraphale said for the third time.

“Please! Call me Gabriel!”

“Of course, Gabriel. And I appreciate your concerns, but Anathema and I get along well, my finances are safe and my private history does not affect my work.”

“Oh yes, your work is impeccable,” Gabriel said. “Just making sure my employers are fine. Finding enough time to write?”

Aziraphale fought the urge to roll his eyes. That was what this was about. Gabriel was worried Aziraphale’s new novel would be late.

Smiling, he assured, “I’m perfectly on time, Gabriel. Save for the last chapter, it is done. You can see the other chapters, if you wish. But, ironically, they are not edited yet.”

“That’s no problem,” Gabriel said, suddenly looking very relieved. “I’d love to…”

Loud yells were heard from the office next door. Both Gabriel and Aziraphale turned their heads towards the noise before looking at each other in confusion. It was a male voice, screaming and shouting, but soon Ms. Byss was heard as well, authoritative and with no doubt pissed off.

After exchanging worried looks, Gabriel and Aziraphale nodded towards each other and went to check. Bianca Adelaide Byss was a force to behold, intellectually and confidence-wise, but she was… well, tiny. Depending on size or weight, a male opponent, willing to resort to violence, might hurt her.

But their concern was unnecessary. When they stepped out of Gabriel’s office, the door next to his opened and a short, fat man stormed out.

“You’ll regret that, Bianca!” he growled. “You’ll regret that!”

“I regret even letting you in and trust to have a civilized conversation,” Ms. Byss said. “And don’t call me Bianca again, unless you’d like to be castrated.”

“This,” the man pointed at her, “is not over.”

Puffing, he turned on his heels and stomped down the corridor. When he was out of sight, Ms. Byss let out a sigh.

“Are you alright, Bee?” Gabriel asked.

“Course I am,” she answered. “Nothing I can’t deal with.”

“Excuse my curiosity,” Aziraphale said. “Who was this delightful gentleman?”

“My useless brother. Wants a piece of the cake.”

“I assume we are not talking about a literal cake?” Aziraphale asked, a little wistful.

Ms. Byss let out a short laugh. “No, I mean the company. My father made sure I inherit his share of it. Sandal got his legal share in cash - which was not a tiny sum, mind you. But now that Gabe and I turned Ether & Abyss into one of the big players…”

“…he wants in,” Gabriel sighed. “We need to be careful. The little man can make big trouble.”

“Are you making fun of short people?” Ms. Byss asked, narrowing her eyes.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Gabriel said with pursed lips and hands lifted in a pacifying gesture.

“Riiiight,” she said. “Anyway, the law is on our side. He stands no chance.”

“I just don’t trust him.”

“Neither do I,” she said in a sharp tone. “But there is just nothing he can do.”

Ms. Byss turned around, went back to her office and slammed the door, indicating the end of the conversation.

“You must excuse her,” Gabriel said. “Sandal is a sensitive topic.”

“I understand,” Aziraphale smiled, and swallowed the remark that Ms. Byss was not exactly a ray of sunshine in conversations that did not concern her brother. “Maybe you should talk to her. We were done anyway, right?”

“Ah, yes,” Gabriel nodded. “You’ll let me see the finished chapters of ‘Blood Roses’?”

“Of course,” Aziraphale sighed. “I’ll send them tonight. They’re on my PC at home.”

“Great!” Gabriel grinned. “I’ll check on Bee now. See you soon, Aziraphale.”

“Goodbye.” Aziraphale waited for Gabriel to disappear in Ms. Byss’ office. Then he shook his head and went to the elevator.

Balancing on his heels, Aziraphale waited for the lift to arrive while he contemplated his first week of the new job. As expected he had no trouble with Anathema, work went well and was fun, he had not seen Crowley since his visit on the first day and Aziraphale had only cried twice, once over losing his bookshop, once over his break-up with Crowley.

After standing a while deep in thought, Aziraphale suddenly noticed that the elevator once again took its time. Annoyed, he noticed that the digital display above the doors showed a blinking “12”.

“Again?” he murmured.

For a few days now the elevator occasionally would not pass the 12th floor. The construction workers doing the maintenance on the 13th swore that nothing they had done or turned off could influence the lift in any way. Still, it kept happening regularly and more frequent. Just like now.

“Four floors,” Aziraphale sighed to himself as he made his way to the fire door which led to the staircase. “At least it’s downwards.”

For a moment he considered to skip lunch and just go to his office two floors below, but an insistent grumbling from his stomach made him bin this plan immediately. So he passed the 14th floor to catch the elevator on the 12th.

Considering his options for lunch, Aziraphale did not pay a lot of attention to his surroundings.

He jumped and shrieked at the sudden metallic sound directly next to his ear. At the last second he stumbled aside and the large red door with the big black “13” missed him by hair’s breadth. Shocked, he stared at the open door. In the frame stood a short, overweight man with thinning brown hair.

“You?” he asked, catching his breath.

Sandal Byss was just as surprised as Aziraphale, but collected himself fast.

“Have we met? Oh right, you were the man with Ether,” he spoke.

“Aziraphale Fell,” Aziraphale introduced himself. “I work here. Unlike you. What were you doing in there?”

After a faked cough, Sandal cleared his throat and said, “Not that it is any of your business, but I was looking for the toilets.”

“On a closed floor?”

“I didn’t know it was closed,” Sandal told him.

Narrowing his eyes at the obviously lying man, Aziraphale gestured down the stairs.

“I think you should leave.”

An arrogant smile formed on Sandal’s face.

“Aziraphale, right?” he asked. “As you said, you _work_ here. You’re not the boss. You do not get to decide who stays or leaves.”

“I think I can make a safe assumption of Ms. Byss' opinion on that matter, based on her reaction to you up there.” Aziraphale returned the false grin and kept pointing downwards. “She made pretty clear that you are not welcome. And will never be.”

Slowly Sandal’s face fell. Unexpected he made two fast steps into Aziraphale’s space, crowding him against the cold wall.

“Listen, you little nobody,” he hissed. “You don’t get to kick me out. You’re not the boss!”

“But I am!”

Sandal and Aziraphale turned their heads towards the stairs. Their eyes fell on a very angry Crowley. He was on the platform below but his long legs carried him upstairs fast, skipping several steps on his way. Within seconds he was next to Sandal, took of the dark glasses and glowered down at the shorter man. None too gently Crowley ripped Sandal away from Aziraphale.

“Gabe just informed me of your little stunt.” Crowley waved his phone in his left hand. “The things you said to Bee. What you called her.” He stepped dangerously close to Sandal, a dark and threatening glint in his eyes. “So I gladly confirm Aziraphale’s… evaluation of the situation: you are not welcome and you leave now. You’re hereby banned from all the parts of the building rented by Ether&Abyss. So get your arse at least down to 12.”

Fuming with rage, Sandal shoved Crowley aside, but made his way to the stairs, leading down. Over his shoulder he called, “Tell my sister she’ll regret it.”

“No need,” Aziraphale said politely. “You already did. Twice. Not that it impressed her much. But I doubt a third time would do the trick.”

At that Sandal stopped in his tracks and turned around once more. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it again upon seeing Crowley’s dangerous expression. After casting one last dark look in Crowley’s and Aziraphale’s direction, he hefted his eyes on the stairs and hurried down.

For a while the two remaining men listened to his steps echoing from the high walls, but when they seemed far enough, Crowley turned to Aziraphale.

“You alright?” he asked, putting a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

Aziraphale flinched for a second, then blushed, embarrassed by the involuntary reaction to Crowley’s touch. And he could not help remember how Crowley and he had once stood in the exact same corner of the staircase, just all the way down in the basement. Well, Crowley had stood…

_Vaguely Aziraphale was aware how hard and cold the basement floor felt against his knees and shins. But his mind soon went astray, lost in the taste, hypnotised by the rhythmic movement of his head, orchestrated by Crowley’s strong hand and accompanied by the snapping of his bony hips._

_Aziraphale revelled in the warm and heavy weight of Crowley’s cock on his tongue, the tender yet firm grasp of long fingers on his hair and the velvet voice whispering sweet praises and blunt obscenities in alternation._

_“Fuck, angel, you’re good at this!” sounded Crowley’s breathless voice from above. “I should keep you on your knees forever.”_

_Warmth pooled in Aziraphale’s stomach at the praise and he tried to prove worthy of it. He changed the angle of his head as much as Crowley’s firm hold allowed and swept his tongue along the shaft, swivelling it around the head just so. His efforts were rewarded with a feral growl from Crowley’s throat and an even rougher grip on Aziraphale's hair._

_In his trousers Aziraphale's own cock twitched and dripped, neglected so far, but Aziraphale was so caught up in pleasuring Crowley, so happy about succeeding that he could not bring himself to care. His heart swelled with pride when Crowley’s hips began to stutter, the movements becoming wild, almost desperate. And when Crowley came, Aziraphale moaned enthusiastically and allowed his lover to keep him in place, letting him spill down his throat, hot, wet and salty._

“Yes, I’m fine,” Aziraphale hurried to say, hoping his face did not look as hot as it suddenly felt. “Just hungry. This horrible man held up my lunch break.”

Crowley chuckled.

“Is he horrible AND delayed your lunch break or does delaying your lunch break make him horrible?” he asked with a fond smile.

“Well,” Aziraphale said. “I found him pretty horrible from the beginning, but delaying lunch did confirm my stance.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“Right?” Aziraphale could not help but return the smile and for a moment or two he lost himself in Crowley’s amber eyes. When he noticed how he was staring, he cleared his throat and said quickly, “Anyway, I’m alright. I should go.”

If Crowley had noticed Aziraphale’s awkward behaviour, he did not let it show.

“Yeah, right,” he said. “Enjoy your lunch.”

“I certainly will, dea…erm, Crowley,” Aziraphale stammered and went for the stairs. “Good bye.”

*

Wistfully Crowley watched Aziraphale hurry down the stairs. He would have loved to stare into those large blue eyes for a while longer. In the back of his mind Crowley could not help wondering if the adorable blush on Aziraphale’s cherub cheeks meant that Aziraphale, too, remembered their heated encounter in the basement.

Crowley certainly did. It had been a long and frustrating day and when Aziraphale had entered Crowley’s office to pick him up, Crowley had been unable to wait for getting home before having him. At first Aziraphale had argued and fussed, but then had been very enthusiastic.

“Damn,” he muttered, feeling the blood rush towards his crotch due to the memory. “Bad time.” He leant against the cool wall of the staircase, closed his eyes, evened out his breath and tried to distract himself. When he let his lids flutter open again after a moment, his gaze fell on the door to the 13th floor. It was still ajar.

Crowley frowned. He was not the most responsible person in the world, but even he knew that a fire door should be closed at all times. That’s why – to his knowledge all the fire doors in the building were designed to fall shut by themselves.

To make sure nothing was stuck in the door that kept it from closing correctly, Crowley swung it wide open and checked the frame and hinges. Nothing. Scratching his head, Crowley made a mental note to inform one of the janitors.

He was just about to close the fire door when he saw a movement in the corner of his eyes. Confused, he looked down the corridor of the 13th floor. To the right he saw nothing out of the ordinary, but when he turned left, he spotted a figure down the corridor. A thin old man in a badly fitted suit of dark-green tweed was walking along the hallway. His body appeared fragile and his posture was hunched, but his steps seemed strangely determined.

“Hey!” Crowley called. “You can’t be here! Floor’s closed.” Muttering to himself, he added, “As the open walls, the foil and the signs should have told you.”

To Crowley’s irritation the man completely ignored him and disappeared around the corner. After a short moment of hesitation, Crowley made a decision. The workers were having their lunch break and would not be back for at least half an hour. Enough time for an old fool to get hurt. So he rushed down the hallway after the man.

When Crowley turned the corner, he could not see anyone, but the door to the men’s bathroom was swinging lightly.

Really? Of the 16 floors the building had to offer, the guy chose the one that was under construction to pee?

After letting out an annoyed sigh, reminding himself not to yell at old men and clearing his throat, Crowley entered the bathroom. He pushed open the door and found the windowless room in semi-darkness. Where the headlights should be, a long and large hole was in the ceiling, revealing the cabling. Crowley was no expert, but to him it did not look like the lamps would be working soon. So the only source of light was a construction site lamp, placed on one of the sinks. Focused upwards, it tinted the lower part of the room in an eerie half-light.

How could anyone choose this twilight-zone to urinate?

Crowley’s gaze fell on the stalls and to his surprise none of the doors was locked. That was certainly strange, but maybe the man did not expect anyone to be here.

Suddenly Crowley was distracted by a flicker of the lamp. It started of mildly, but soon the light was going on and off at a rapid speed, forcing Crowley to look away. He shielded his eyes with one hand and stared at the dusty tiles of the floor.

A few seconds passed and just as fast as it had started acting out, the light was shining without disturbances again.

“Wow, the floor really needs a do-over,” Crowley said to himself.

He lifted his gaze to inspect the lamp again.

He shouted.

He stumbled against the stall behind him.

In the mirror suddenly stood the old man, staring at him with dark brown eyes out of the middle stall, an inscrutable expression on his sunken in face.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, man!” Crowley cursed. “You scared the liv…”

Crowley froze. As he turned away from the mirror to face the man instead of his reflection, there was nobody there. Another look in the mirror confirmed that the stall was empty.

“What the…?” Crowley frantically looked around the room.

With a thundering crash, echoing from the walls, the stall doors fell shut and the lamp started flickering again. For a second Crowley thought he saw someone in the mirror again, but he did not stay to check. He burst through the door and ran out of the bathroom.

In the hallway he felt better immediately. Through the milky construction foil on the large glass windows fell the autumn sun, bathing the corridor in a warm light. But even though it was an improvement compared to the suffocating windowless bathroom, the hairs on Crowley’s neck were still standing up. Caught between a very human fear and a very individual curiosity, Crowley came to a halt at the corner. He peeked around and watched the bathroom door. It made no movement and no sound came from behind.

“What the Hell just happened?” he thought.

Where had the old man gone? Had he ever been in there? Crowley started doubting himself. The lightning in the bathroom was poor. The flickering of the lamp had confused him. He had seen the figure for mere seconds. Maybe he had just imagined it.

But the dim light in the restroom could only explain the figure in there. There was no way he had imagined the man walking down the hallway.

Now more determined to find an explanation than scared, Crowley inspected the corridor around the corner. Beside the door to the men’s, there was one to the ladies’, a small storage room and a door to an office. Crowley went to check and found the ladies’ room empty and the other two doors locked.

As he stood in the corridor, thinking, a light breeze rushed through his hair and he studied the window front. The foil on some glass panes was moving, indicating that they were open.

Crowley paused. Then he began to laugh. He was an idiot.

Of course! The man was probably Clark Irving which was the name on the locked office door. He had forgotten something at his work place and went to get it. But a draft had moved the bathroom door, making Crowley think, the old man had gone in there. And while Crowley had been checking the lavatory, Clark had gotten his stuff, locked the door again and left. The bathroom stalls had been slammed shut by another draft. And the figure in mirror? Just a trick of the eye due to the dim light, supported by too little sleep and too much coffee. Probably going out every night of the week began taking its toll.

Right! That was it.

Shaking his head and laughing about himself, Crowley went to the fire door.

“I’m such a moron,” he chuckled and swore never to tell anyone. Especially Hastur and Ligur would never let him live that down.

Thinking of Hastur and Ligur he briefly considered cancelling their night out, but decided soon that he needed distraction more than rest – at least for now.

*

After lunch Aziraphale returned to his and Anathema’s office. His unpleasant encounter with Sandal Byss was forgotten, being overshadowed by thoughts of Crowley. This was of course pretty much the opposite of his plan to get over Crowley, but he was unable to stop his mind wandering towards his ex-lover again and again.

Once more the elevator stopped at the 12th floor even though nobody had pressed the button with this number. Together with several other annoyed people Aziraphale left the defiant machine and took the stairs for the rest of the way.

Upon arriving at his workplace, a small smile formed on his lips. Anathema was not alone. Another chair had been pulled up to her desk and on it sat Newton Pulsifier, a nice young man from IT who had taken a shine to Anathema some months ago. Aziraphale could not blame him. Anathema was not only attractive, she was also quick-witted, funny and confident. Actually what Aziraphale liked most about Newton was that Anathema had told him how Newt had not been interested upon seeing her. But after she had given his superior a talking to about his tone and had understood his explanations about the new computer system after one go, he had been head over heels for her.

Aziraphale greeted them and went to his desk. To give them some privacy, he tried not to listen in, but still he heard that Newt had bought Anathema some special candles at an occult shop and was now reciting what he had learned about their abilities. Visibly nervous, he mixed some things up and stuttered a bit, but Anathema followed his explanations patiently and thanked him for the gift with a sweet smile.

But when it was time for Newton to get back to work and he turned to her to ask, “Would you like to go to the esoteric fair this weekend? With me?”, she shook her head.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Newt,” she told him. “This weekend I’m busy.”

His face fell and he looked extremely miserable for a moment, but then he managed a small smile again.

“That’s fine!” he said, way too cheerful. “Another time then.”

“Yes, another time,” Anathema answered, not meeting his gaze. “See you later, Newt.”

“Yes, later!” he said. “Mr. Fell.”

“Mr. Pulsifier.” Aziraphale returned the respectful nod and watched as Newton walked out. When he was sure the young man was out of hearing range, Aziraphale's head snapped towards Anathema and he looked at, glaring questions in his eyes.

“What?” she asked.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Anathema, dear, this young man has been courting you for weeks,” Aziraphale said. “I know you like him very much. Because I saw how you deal with suitors you _dis_ like. And you just had a great talk, he is cute, smart, attentive...”

“...why don’t _you_ go out with him?” she snapped and immediately cast her eyes downward. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he sighed. “I just try to understand. I sure won’t pressure you to go out with anyone.”

“I know,” she said. “He did nothing wrong. It’s just… At first it was great. As you said, he is cute and smart. And I liked that he asked me about my interests and tried to learn more about it.”

“But?”

“For the last weeks he has been overdoing it,” she explained. “By now he has been in more occult shops than I, has spent his free time reading esoteric books or watching videos on the topic and brings me some occult gifts every week.”

“But isn’t that what you wanted?” Aziraphale asked. “I remember you complaining that your last young man took no interest at all in the occult.”

“I know! It hurt how dismissive Stephen was of my believes. So yeah, I found Newt’s interest refreshing and sweet,” she said. “But not to this degree. I fear he is trying to be something he is not. And I don’t want that. Nobody should change what they are on my behalf.”

“That is a very mature and selfless stance, dear,” Aziraphale smiled. “But I do not think that is what is happening. He just wants to make you happy, maybe impress you a bit. That does not make him not-Newt.”

Biting her lip, Anathema stared out of the window, apparently contemplated Aziraphale’s words.

“You’re probably right,” she nodded after a moment and then sighed, “And now I hurt his feelings.”

Groaning she let her head fall on her desk, her long dark hair spilling around it. Aziraphale chuckled at the sight.

“It’s not the end of the world,” he told her. “Next week you’ll go to him, tell him you want to make up for being unable to go to the fair with him. And you’ll invite him to a movie he likes. You know, to soothe yourself by knowing that you compromise as well.” For a moment Aziraphale stopped smiling and murmured, “God knows, compromising should be mutual.”

“That… is a good idea,” she beamed. “Thanks!”

“You’re most welcome, dear.”

Anathema left early this day due to an appointment so there was nobody reminding Aziraphale of the time. Engrossed in his work, he did not notice how outside the street lamps started glowing and the late October sun disappeared in the West.

Only when he stretched himself to get a kink out of his neck, he noticed how dark the office had become save for the blue glow of his computer’s screen.

Since he had just finished one chapter of a novel he was editing, he decided to call it a day. With a lot of work done, a nice evening with Chinese food and a movie ahead, he was in a fairly good mood.

It got even better when to his pleasant surprise, the elevator’s door was open as he passed by. Aziraphale was not sure who had called it, but whoever it was had apparently grown tired of waiting and left. Shrugging Aziraphale took the opportunity to step in and press the button for the Lobby.

Whistling he waited for the doors to close and for the lift to move. But his heart fell when upon passing the 13th floor, the car began to slow and came to a stuttering halt.

“Oh no, please no,” he whined. A night in the elevator was not the plan. He was about to press the emergency button when the familiar “ding” sounded and the door opened. Aziraphale’s gaze fell on the large 13 on the wall opposite the elevator and he scratched his head. This should not happen. Currently the door should not open at this floor.

Unsure, Aziraphale pondered his options. It was of course forbidden to be on this floor at the moment. But what if the doors closed again and would not open afterwards? No, he did not want to spend hours in a broken elevator.

Decision made, Aziraphale stepped into the darkened floor. It was a strange and chilling atmosphere. The headlights as well as the construction site lamps were turned off and the hallway was only illuminated by the eerie green glow of the escape lightning. The old walls creaked, crumbled plaster cracked under Aziraphale’s feet and the wind rustled through the protective foil covering windows and walls.

Aziraphale shuddered, unwillingly flooded by Anathema’s words about the bad feeling the building gave her. Despite trying to shake the thoughts off, goose bumps formed on his skin. He hurried along the corridor, following the path of the emergency lights towards the fire exit that led to the staircase.

He already saw the red door when he stopped dead in his tracks. Through the milk glass door of a conference room, he noticed a blue flickering light. He also thought he heard someone whisper, but this might have been the autumn wind whistling around and through the building.

Again, he was uncertain what to do. Burglars he would rather avoid, reckless teenagers who might get hurt on a nightly construction site he wanted to kick out.

Finally he decided that burglars were less likely since those people usually checked out a building and therefor would know that a) nothing was on the 13th floor at the moment and b) there were more valuable targets in the building than Ether&Abyss.

Gathering his courage, Aziraphale stepped towards the milk glass door and pushed it open. The room was large but easy to oversee because almost everything had been removed. Almost. A large table in the room’s centre was still here and – to Aziraphale’s surprise – the source of the light was not a torch or a lamp, but a computer, standing on the table and casting its blue light on the walls.

With furrowed brows Aziraphale stepped closer and stared at the screen where an empty word document was open. Aziraphale was convinced someone had told him that at the moment most of the wall sockets did not work and the workers got the power they needed from other floors. So how and why did this computer run? Aziraphale decided to follow the cable, but this only deepened his confusion. Because there was none. This computer in the middle of the room ran by… nothing?

His natural curiosity pushed aside the creepy feeling Aziraphale had on this floor. For a moment. Because when he turned his attention to the screen again, in the formerly empty document something had been written, without someone typing anything.

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and his heart began to race as he read the words.

“Turn around.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya! Here is chapter 3 of “Dark Literature“. I hope you like it!

Even though Crowley did his best to forget what had happened on the 13th floor, his thoughts went back to the dark windowless bathroom ever so often. The explanations he had found made sense to him and still he could not shake off the memories of how it had felt to be in that room.

Crowley scolded himself. This was ridiculous. He allowed himself to be spooked by a few flickering lights and weird noises, probably influenced by the rumours and scary stories about the building.

Where now were the office rooms had once been luxury apartments. A fire at some point in the last century destroyed the building. The cause of the fire remained unclear until this day but some witnesses had claimed the angry ghost of a former occupant who died in the house was responsible.

It was no surprise that stories like this spread around and of course, after the house had been rebuilt, people had started “seeing things”. Maybe to get some attention, maybe because the rumours had influenced them. However, what was interesting was the fact that by far the most of the weird things seemed to happen on the 13th floor. Even after the structure was turned into an office building. The amount of necessary repairs drove Gabriel nuts since they had moved in there with the company, but in the last weeks the problems had increased immensely, finally leading to a complete lockdown and renovation.

Crowley took a deep breath.

“That’s all”, he tried telling himself. “You let the stories get to you. A few drinks and some fun at the club, and the world will look better.”

The queue was long as was normal on a Friday night, but Crowley knew that he and his friends would not have to wait. Ligur knew every club owner in the city and the club owners made sure their people knew him as well.

So Crowley walked by the waiting party crowd and spotted Ligur and Hastur near a side entrance, chatting with one of the security guards. Hastur grinned and waved while Ligur just nodded with a smirk.

“Sorry I’m late,” Crowley said. “You know how it is…”

“Yeah, yeah, no need for one of your excuses,” Hastur laughed. “You’re not the latest for a change.”

“I’m not?”

“Nah, we’re waiting for… ah there he is.”

Crowley followed Hastur’s gaze and spotted a young blond man, returning the wave with a smile.

“I’m so sorry, gentlemen,” he said. “I couldn’t decide on the perfect jacket to go with my new shirt and… well, time flies when you’re having a fashion crisis.”

He giggled until his eyes fell on Crowley.

“So this is the handsome friend you spoke of, Ligur?” he asked.

“Anthony J Crowley,” Crowley answered before Ligur could while casting Hastur and Ligur a murderous look. They knew he hated being tricked into dates.

“Well, Anthony J Crowley,” the young man repeated. “Are you as nice as Ligur said?”

“No, I’m afraid,” Crowley answered, his tone farouche and cold. “He lied to you. I’m not nice.”

“Thank God!” the young man explained. “I don’t do nice, you know.”

With that he grabbed Crowley’s arm and dragged him through the side entrance into the club. Crowley’s protests went unheard and when he turned to Hastur and Ligur for help, they just grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

*

The walls seemed to be closing in, suddenly it was very hard to breathe and Aziraphale’s skin was tingling all over. The wind, brushing over the alerted hairs on his neck, was ice cold all of a sudden, sending a shudder through his whole body.

For long seconds he stared at the monitor, blinking at the words as if he could will them away, force them to disappear, somehow expose them as nothing but a trick his mind played on him.

But they stayed. Black letters on white background in a highly inappropriate Comic Sans.

“Turn around.”

Aziraphale swallowed hard. Could he run? Should he run? Was there a need to?

The rational part of his brain told him no. There had been nobody in the room upon his arrival. He had seen no one and the room had no hiding places. Aziraphale _had_ to be alone!

But another part of him, an older, simpler and yet sometimes wiser part, disagreed. He felt watched, he felt cornered and he felt exposed.

He clenched his hands to fists, his nails digging into his palms, a blunt, grounding pain that reminded him to breathe and to think.

His eyes flicked towards the keyboard of the scary computer. It did not even surprise him anymore that it was not at all connected to any other part of the machine. Apparently it was not needed to type alarming messages. But it was there and it looked solid.

Aziraphale took a deep breath.

As fast as he could, he grabbed the keyboard, spun around and swung the device... and hit nothing but the air. Nobody there.

He let his eyes wander around. The only figure in the room was his own shadow, floating on the floor in the light of the monitor.

All of a sudden he felt extremely silly. Of course there was nobody behind him. Probably this was a silly prank some immature ITlers planned to play on the construction workers. Aziraphale did not know much about computers, but for those who did it was probably easy to have a computer type words, seeming to be typed by a ghostly hand.

But how did the computer know when to have the words appear? Maybe a motion sensor of some sort? Aziraphale turned to inspect the screen. As soon as he was focused on the monitor again, the room went much darker.

Aziraphale had no time to process.

The large ink-black face, suddenly dominating most of the screen let out an unearthly screech. Its human-like featured contorted as it ripped open a toothless mouth further and further, its maw an endless tunnel of darkness.

With a mortified scream Aziraphale stumbled back, but to his horror the creature was not bound to the machine. It peeled its shadowy form out of the screen, following Aziraphale as he desperately tried to get away.

While the face of the thing and its upper body reminded vaguely of a human, the rest was nothing but a dark wavering mass. Unfortunately it needed no legs to move fast as it was simply floating through the air, rushing towards Aziraphale.

It was more luck than skill that Aziraphale managed to dodge the creature by letting himself fall and rolling away. The unfortunate side effect of this stunt was a painful landing on his elbow, but at least now the creature was no longer between Aziraphale and the exit.

Panicked, Aziraphale scrambled to his feet and ran for the door, but his opponent was fast. Aziraphale could feel the draft of the ghostly figure‘s movement in his neck and it did not take long for the fiend to catch up.

The creature got a hold of Aziraphale’s shoulder and while he managed to rip himself out of its grasp, the jerky movement had him stumble. Whether it was a coincidence or if the shadow creature knew what it was doing, Aziraphale could not tell. But as he struggled to keep his balance, it rushed forward and pushed him so that he fell forward and crashed to the floor.

Aziraphale tried crawling away, but soon he felt an icy grip around his right ankle, the cold so biting that it hurt. Screaming in fear and pain, Aziraphale started kicking. But while the spectral attacker was surprisingly solid against his feet, it was rather unimpressed by his struggles. Its grasp on Aziraphale remained firm - and it pulled.

Even though Aziraphale had no idea what it would do with him if it managed to pull him in, he was sure it would not be good. Aziraphale managed to grab one leg of the conference table and tried to hold on, but the creature was stronger. Aziraphale felt his sweaty fingers slip off the cold metal.

Suddenly the room was bathed in light. Aziraphale blinked as the installed construction lamps came to life and flooded the area.

Within the fracture of the second the shadowy fiend was gone. It let go of Aziraphale with a screech that might have been of pain or anger and disappeared into thin air.

Aziraphale sat up and looked around, full of confusion and questions.

The door to the conference room opened, even though Aziraphale could not remember to have closed it. In the frame stood a bulky man of maybe 40 years. He had a round and friendly face, bushy eyebrows and thinning black hair.

“Hey, mate!” he said, stern but good-natured. “What you’re doing in here? Floor’s closed for a reason. ‘Tis dangerous. You hurt?”

“No, I… I was…”

“Sure? Why’re you on the ground then?”

Aziraphale got to his feet as fast as he could.

“I… I’m fine, sir, but there was… I think I saw…”

The man laughed.

“Yeah, the place can get to you,” he said with a wink. “Ma boys been tellin’ me a lot of weird stories ‘bout things they saw.”

“But, I…”

“Come on, you’re not supposed to be here, mate.”

“Y…yes, I know, the elevator stopped here and I…”

“Ah, okay,” the man nodded. “Got lost, eh? Can happen in the darkness. Let’s get you outta here.”

Aziraphale was still shook, but somehow the large friendly and calm man‘s presence was steadying him and he gratefully let himself be led to the exit.

“Better take the stairs,” the construction worker winked. “The elevator is not really reliable.”

“I noticed,” Aziraphale said dryly as the man opened the door for him. When he was through, Aziraphale turned around one more time. “Thank you, Mr… erm…”

The man chuckled.

“Just ‘Bob’.” He said with a warm smile, pointing at his name tag which indeed identified him simply as “Bob” from “Barmer Constructions”

“Well, thank you, Bob.” Aziraphale returned the smile and waved before stepping through the fire door. "Good night!”

“Good night, mate! Take care.” Bob lifted his hand as a good bye and Aziraphale saw him turn back down the corridor before the door fell shut.

Deep in thought, he made his way to the lobby. He gladly took the stairs. Downwards even 13 floors were not that bad, especially since his pondering about the evening’s events occupied his mind and distracted him from his body’s exhaustion.

Had he really experienced this? Sure, at a late hour in the darkness, the eyes could play tricks on you, but that… thing had touched him. He had felt it and he was under the impression that his ankles - where it had grabbed him - still felt colder than the rest of his body. Or was he imagining it?

When Aziraphale arrived in the lobby, he immediately hurried outside through the sliding door, greedily breathing in the cool nightly air, clearing his head.

Whatever had or had not happened in there, he needed a break. A quiet evening in with delicious food, nice wine and a good book was exactly what he craved now.

*

They sat a little offsite; a small table in the bistro and bar area where the music from the dance floor was still loud, but not drowning out every spoken word.

Not that Crowley was too interested in hearing what the young fellow had to say. Crowley had to admit that Aaron was a cute guy. Blond hair, blue eyes, a cute smile and a curvy body. A few years ago, Crowley would have been all over him. At least this time Ligur and Hastur really had done their homework before trying to play matchmaker. Crowley would give them a piece of his mind later all the same. He had made it pretty clear after their last attempt that he did not appreciate being set up like this.

Because in the end, no matter how handsome Aaron was, he was all wrong. His hair was too deliberately styled, it was the wrong blue looking at Crowley and his body was… well, okay, yes, his arse was to die for, but still not the right plush butt.

In addition, the conversation was not exactly thrilling. There sure had been a time where Crowley would have loved this; dancing, drinking, making out and the only spoken words superficial smalltalk. Full of guilt he remembered how he had always pushed Aziraphale to hit the clubs with him, dragged him to parties and seldom indulged Aziraphale by spending a cosy Saturday at home. Furthermore he had never exactly made it a secret that he thought of the rare weekends they had spent to Aziraphale’s taste - having dinner and wine, watching movies, listening to music or simply talking – as the “lesser” weekends. But were they really?

_Confused Crowley turned the book he had found around in his hand._

_“Please do not make a mess, dearest,” Aziraphale said between two sips of tea. “These books are pre-sorted… erm kind of… I’d hate to start over.”_

_“Iphigenia? Didn’t I see that one between the old Greeks? Why is it between the classic stuff?” Crowley asked._

_“That would be Goethe’s Iphigenia,” Aziraphale said. “He retold the story.”_

_Crowley snorted. “Isn’t Goethe like a huge deal? Didn’t think he’d need to steal stories.”_

_“He retold it,” Aziraphale sighed. “There is a difference.”_

_“How so?” Crowley asked._

_Aziraphale finished his tea and took on his lecturing posture._

_“Of course language and style differ greatly, but in my opinion the most important difference is that Goethe’s characters have to do without the deus ex machina,” he said._

_“Oh, you told me about that. That’s when the characters’ problems are suddenly solved by an unexpected outside party.”_

_“Pretty much,” Aziraphale smiled. “But originally it really meant a God whose doing would bring the turning point. The actor appeared surprisingly and usually with the help of a mechanical construct. Euripedes’ Iphigenia and her family are saved by Athene.”_

_“So, Goethe’s characters are on their own?”_

_“They are and they manage. That is the point. When caught between the decision of betraying her family and betraying the man who saved her, Iphigenia comes clean to Thoas and in the end he lets her go. Similarly her brother needs no God to cure his madness, he does so himself by going through a vision.”_

_“Not a scientifically proven cure, huh?” Crowley smirked._

_“It works for Orest, dear.”_

_“So? It’s the same? Only no Gods?”_

_“Only no Gods?” Aziraphale repeated. “It used to be a big deal, and for some it is still today, to take your life in your own hands, to take responsibility, to be the ruler of your own world.”_

_“Yeah, true…”_

_“Iphigenia wanted to do the right thing, but her situation made this hard,” Aziraphale said. “But she was brave and faced her fears. And was rewarded.”_

_“Pfff, in real life doing the right thing is not always rewarded, angel.”_

_“Well, I suspect Goethe did not want to ruin his plea for humanity by killing off the characters who acted accordingly,” Aziraphale jested. “But the message is still not wrong in my opinion; whether we fail or succeed, in the end it is better to have tried than to point your fingers at a God who may not care or not even exist.”_

_“Hmm, I guess,” Crowley said thoughtfully. “It sucks to wait for a miracle that never comes because God has no intention of doing something.”_

_“Or God is of the opinion you should really try it yourself.” Smiling Aziraphale left his chair and pressed a kiss on Crowley’s cheek. “We do not know who is up there, but we are here and nobody is powerless. Tea?”_

“Anyhoo, I am a thousand percent sure I told them I wanted sea green serviettes,” Aaron whined. “So of course, the moment I saw the emerald green ones, I knew had picked the wrong party service. I fired them on the spot. Finding someone else last minute was a mess and expensive, but why have a housewarming party if it is not perfect, right?”

Aaron giggled before nipping at his glass. Then he looked at Crowley through half-lidded eyes and licked a stray drop of champagne from his lips.

“I didn’t know you back then, but if I had, you’d been invited,” he said with a seductive wink.

“Lucky me,” Crowley said, gruff and dismissive.

“Oh, you could be,” Aaron purred. “How about we leave this dull place and have a second, more intimate, housewarming party?”

His soft hands found Crowley’s, the showy rings cool against Crowley’s skin. It would be a lie for Crowley to deny that he had thought about it. In some moments during the night when the lonely black spot on his soul pulsated and dared to swallow him whole. But he knew it would not help.

While Aaron drew circles with his fingers on the back of Crowley’s hand, Crowley thought about his ex-lover and how he had lost him. After Crowley’s stupid comment about Aziraphale being boring they had reconciled a few days later, but the words had stood between them like an ugly dark-grey wall. It didn’t take much for them to part ultimately. The agreement was mutual, but Crowley had regretted it the moment he had been out of the door.

But too angry and hurt, he had ignored the muffled cries, coming from Aziraphale’s flat, and left to get drunk. He wondered briefly if a higher power had brought Aziraphale back to him by placing him in the same building. But if so, was it punishment or a prompt to do something? Too bad that higher powers did not leave instructions. He chuckled at the thought.

“No Gods to blame,” he mumbled before emptying his glass.

“What?” Aaron asked, confused, and it was unclear whether he had not heard Crowley properly or if he was confused because Crowley’s remark did not match anything he had babbled about.

“Nothing,” Crowley said with a dismissive gesture. “Listen, Aaron. You’re a cute guy and I’m sure every gay man in the club tonight would love to be in my place, but…”

“Not you?” Aaron asked, leaning back in a relaxed move. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it, sweetie. I’m a big boy. I can live with rejections. Even though I don’t have much practice.”

At the last words he waggled his eyebrows suggestively and smirked. He took a swig of his champagne again. Then he waved lightly with his glass.

“Tell you what,” he said. “You pay for the champagne and we’re good.”

“Sounds fair,” Crowley shrugged as he got up and took out his purse. Losing the money he threw on the table was much better than an offended guy and a scene. “If you see Ligur or Hastur, tell them I went home, will you?”

“Sure thing, hon,” Aaron said. “Good night!”

“Good night!”

For a moment Crowley was relieved when he finally got home. Being here in his proverbial castle after this unpleasant evening was reassuring and steadying. His home was impeccable. Nothing out of place. The expensive and elegant furniture could be photographed and the pictures put in a catalogue just as they were. The cleaning lady did a fantastic job and Crowley himself made sure to put everything where it belonged.

But soon the emptiness of his fancy and flawless apartment came crashing down on him. When Aziraphale had stayed over, Crowley had often chided him for being a little messy. Now Crowley missed the mugs with remains of cold cocoa, the ruffled blankets Aziraphale would wrap himself in and just leave lying about and the dozens of books spread all over the place.

_“You’re gonna drink that tea, Aziraphale? Or is it just gonna get cold and leave stains on my table?” Crowley stood at his bar and gestured towards the living room table._

_“Terribly sorry, dear,” Aziraphale said, his cheeks slightly red, while he scribbled something in his journal._

_“What are you writing? New book?”_

_“Erm, no,” Aziraphale said. “Just some thoughts.”_

_“Thoughts on your book?”_

_“No,” Aziraphale said, chuckling. “Just, you know, what’s on my mind. Sorting my thoughts.”_

_“Sorting your thoughts?” Crowley repeated._

_“Yes, to… make sense of them.”_

_“Hate to tell you, angel,” Crowley said while he poured himself a drink. “But if a thought doesn’t make sense in your mind, it won’t make sense on paper either.”_

_“I have to disagree here,” Aziraphale said. “When contemplating a problem in one’s mind, thoughts can be jumbled, not to forget influenced by your emotions. Seeing the core problems black on white makes it easier to see and solve them. Sometimes you can find out new things.”_

_“If you say so,” Crowley shrugged. “Anyway, if you’re making a list of problems and their origins, add ‘angry boyfriend’ because of ‘mess on the table’.”_

_He took his drink and left for the bedroom._

Sighing, Crowley sank down on the luxurious black leather sofa, stared wistfully at the spotless glass table and the neatly folded blankets on the armchair and took the remote which laid on the side table – just as it was supposed to.

He turned on the device and Netflix recommended a few horror movies. However, what was the point if there was nobody to cling to him at the scary parts? After only a few minutes Crowley hit the off-button and threw the remote on the couch. Groaning he rubbed his eyes.

Why not?

In his office he found some paper and a pencil. Back on his couch he started writing down and sorting his thoughts, hoping he would find out something new. After a little more than thirty minutes he read through his notes.

_I’m an idiot_

_I lost the best thing I ever had_

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’, and threw the piece of paper over his shoulder. “I knew that before.”

*

On Monday Aziraphale felt refreshed. It was the strangest thing. Friday night he had fallen asleep during his movie, only to have the weirdest and scariest dream he had ever had, but Saturday morning the horrifying encounter on the 13th floor had appeared like a dream as well. Maybe it was just his mind pushing the unbelievable into the box of things that _must_ have been a product of his imagination. Maybe he had indeed imagined it.

Perhaps it had been just his own shadow, spooking him, and he had hurt himself as he had stumbled and fallen in his shock, maybe even hit his head and been unconscious and dreaming. Bob apparently had seen and heard nothing. Maybe he was right and Aziraphale with his over-imaginative and tired mind had allowed the spooky place to get to him, not even to speak of Anathema playing Kassandra about the buildings “dark aura” all the time.

“Think of the devil,” Aziraphale whispered to himself as he entered the lobby.

He smiled fondly. At the elevator stood Anathema Device, a pencil between her teeth, balancing a shoebox, two paper bags and a coffee while trying to push the button at first with her butt, then - when this did not work - with her foot.

Just as she was about to lose her balance, Aziraphale reached her, took the coffee with his right hand and supported her with his left arm.

“Not enough tools and trinkets in your office yet?” he asked, taking the pencil out of her mouth, and then summoned the lift.

“Never hurts to have spares, right?” Anathema answered, a light trace of red on her cheeks and nodded towards her shoebox, “I’d like to try some new approaches for my artwork,” then rattled with the bags, “and enforce the protection of our work place. I feel like it’s getting worse, the vibes the building is giving of, I mean. And I’m having strange dreams.”

“I see,” Aziraphale said, managing a small smile. He had considered telling Anathema what he had seen. Or thought to have seen. But now he was not sure this was a good idea.

Looking at Anathema closer, he saw lines of worries on her pretty face while she spoke. She indeed looked like she had not slept well and it would not do to upset her.

So he waved with her coffee and winked.

“Do you want to give me the box instead?” he teased. “Looks like you need this one.”

“Yes, please!”

The elevator made them wait again, but by now they were used to it and took the opportunity to chat about Aziraphale’s new book. Anathema’s mood lightened visibly as she heard him talk about some key scenes. When the lift finally arrived, she was already talking about cover ideas.

Disappointed but not surprised, they sighed when the elevator came to a sudden halt at the 12th floor even though nobody had pressed the respective button. After exchanging annoyed glances, they shrugged and stepped out, left with no choice but to take the stairs.

As they passed the fire door to the 13th floor, it swung open and a construction worker hurried out, smiled and tipped against his helmet as a greeting.

“Morning,” he said before walking down the stairs.

“Good Morning,” Anathema and Aziraphale answered unisono and continued their way.

But a second before the man was out of sight, Aziraphale’s eyes fell on his back. With knitted brows he read “Construction Jonson”. Confused, he stared after the worker whose steps echoed through the building.

“Aziraphale?” Anathema asked from a few steps above him. “What is it?”

“How did Gabriel switch the construction company over the weekend?” Aziraphale asked.

“What do you mean?” Anathema asked. “Jonson and his men have been doing the construction work from the start.”

“What?” Aziraphale frowned. “What about Barmer?”

Anathema cast him a surprised look. “I’m surprised you heard about them. They were Gabriel’s go-to company years ago,” she said. “Shortly after doing some repair work in the men’s bathroom on the 13th – you know something is always broken on that accursed floor – they closed business.”

“Oh, why?”

“One of the construction workers had a heart attack while working in the men’s room,” Anathema told him, a melancholic look on her face. “His colleague was gone for a moment to get some tools they forgot and found him dead.”

“That’s horrible,” Aziraphale said empathetically. “But I’m sure I saw an employer of Barmer Constructions on Friday.”

Anathema shook her head with a grave expression.

“Can’t be,” she said. “The dead man was the owner’s brother. After that he suffered from severe depression and eventually had to close business.”

“How sad. The poor man and of course his brother and colleagues,” Aziraphale said.

“They all were devastated,” Anathema remembered. “He was well-liked among the workers. And I understand. I talked to him once or twice. Typical gentle giant. His name was Bob and he… Aziraphale? Are you alright?”

Aziraphale clutched at the staircase railing before sinking down on one of the steps. His body was shaking and he felt hot and cold at the same time.

“Aziraphale?” Anathema repeated, kneeling down next to him. “What’s wrong? Do you need a doctor?”

Aziraphale shook his head while staring straight at the red fire door with the large 13 beneath him.

“Are you sure? You look as if you’d seen a ghost.”

Swallowing hard, Aziraphale turned his gaze towards her concerned face, looking straight into her dark eyes.

“I think I saw two.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short note: I’ll be out of town next week and the internet connection of the place I’m staying at is meh. So I don’t know if I can update next week. I’ll try, but in case no update comes, don’t worry. I didn’t abandon the story. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Ironically vacation leaves less time for writing than normal life.
> 
> Please mind the new tags: "rough sex" and "consensual degrading dirty talk".
> 
> I hope you enjoy Chapter 4! Leave your thoughts! :)

When Crowley arrived at the building on Monday, it was almost lunchtime. One benefit of owning part of a company was that you could not be fired for lack of punctuality. Or for missing meetings. Sometimes Crowley even had the feeling Bee and Gabriel were glad when he did not show up for those. 

Crowley was in a way better mood now. On Saturday morning he had learned that a hangover was less bad when it originated in alcohol alone. Apparently a long night in the stale air of a club, sitting next to a smoking Hastur and listening to way too loud music made a large part of his usual suffering the next morning. Getting drunk on his own couch, surrounded by clear air and falling asleep in a comfortable position, only led to a light headache which was easily fixed with some painkillers. Good to know. Maybe he could get the guys to compromise now and then.

So he had had half of Saturday and the whole Sunday to come up with a course of action. Looking at his plan in the merciless light of a sober Monday morning, he had to admit that it was not exactly an impressive plan, but at least it was easy to understand.

Talk to Aziraphale.

The details on how and to which goal were still a bit unclear (“unclear” as in “not existent”), but he would try. Crowley knew he had hurt Aziraphale and felt the need to somehow make amends. But first he had to find out how Aziraphale felt about this. Would he want a sincere apology or would he rather be not reminded of what had occured? Would it be best to support Aziraphale in whatever way he needed, hoping to soften him to Crowley’s wish to make up for the pain he caused?

With no other option, Crowley came up with some reason to see Aziraphale. Advertisement was vaguely Crowley’s resort and so he would just ask Aziraphale about his new book, claiming to need a first impression of the work to plan a strategy. Truth be told, Crowley never started planning campaigns for works before they were complete, often even not before the end of the editing process. But Aziraphale did not know that and did not have to.

After walking up and down the lobby for a while and already getting strange looks, Crowley took a deep breath and went to the elevator. The blasted thing spit him out at the 12th again - Crowley made a mental note to tell Gabriel - and he took the stairs for the rest of the way to 14. Determined, Crowley walked down the corridor until he stood in the frame of Anathema’s office she currently shared with Aziraphale.

None of the two noticed them. Anathema was engrossed in a book, walking up and down behind Aziraphale. It almost looked like she was moving in a protective half-circle around him. But when Crowley’s eyes fell on Aziraphale he felt a protective surge himself.

He frowned at Aziraphale’s posture. He sat behind his desk, very pale, shaking lightly, arms crossed protectively across his chest and his shoulders slumped. Crowley saw that way more of Anathema’s hokus pokus junk was cluttered across Aziraphale’s desk, but he did not seem to mind, actually he barely seemed to see it.

“Angel?” Before Crowley could stop the term of endearment, it had fallen from his lips when he saw Aziraphale’s worrying state. He rushed into the office, ignoring Anathema’s annoyed groan, and was beside Aziraphale lightning fast. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Aziraphale bit his lip and avoided Crowley’s eyes, remaining silent. But Anathema spoke.

“He was attacked,” she said.

“Anathema!” Aziraphale hissed.

“What? You were!”

“The fuck? What?” Crowley exclaimed. “Who? Tell me! I’ll tear them apart. Then my lawyer will tear them apart! No wait! We’ll let Bee’s lawyer tear them apart. When Dagon’s done with them…”

Aziraphale still was not looking at Crowley and again Anathema answered.

“Even Dagon won’t scare off this specific attacker, I fear.”

“Anathema,” Aziraphale repeated, now more pleading than angry.

Crowley tried to ignore the heartbreak he felt. Had he completely lost Aziraphale’s trust? Why did his angel not want him to know who hurt him? Crowley could help, would help - immediately.

“If he doesn’t take that seriously, he’s not worth that you worry about his opinion,” Anathema said to Aziraphale and with a disapproving look at Crowley added, “Not that I think he is, anyway.”

“Take what seriously?” Crowley asked, ignoring Anathema’s jab against him. “Aziraphale, talk to me!”

Aziraphale shook his head. Anathema sighed, but apparently decided to respect his wishes now and grabbed her handbag.

“I’ll be with Newt for a moment,” she announced and told Aziraphale, “You should be safe here for now. Don’t touch any of the things I put on your desk. They are exactly as needed. Okay?”

“Okay,” Aziraphale said in a toneless voice.

“Hey! We’re not done here!” Crowley called after Anathema, an indignant expression on his face, his arms stretched out in a challenging manner. But she ignored him and he could only watch her leave. For a moment he held his demanding posture, but had to accept that she had left him standing there.

Frustrated, he turned to Aziraphale again.

“Well, okay, if you two won’t tell me,” Crowley said, “did you at least call the police?”

Again Aziraphale just shook his head in silence. With a growl Crowley jumped to his feet, stomped over to Anathema’s desk and wanted to grab the receiver of her phone when he spotted a pile of even more books. 

At first he just skimmed across them, barely paying them any mind, but suddenly he halted. His eyes went wide as they fell on the cover of a medium sized work, under normal circumstances hardly notable. Crowley grabbed the book. He stared at the black and white photograph, looking back at him. It was the picture of an old man with tousled light hair, a serious expression on his narrow face, his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes disapproving as if the photographer had interrupted something very important.

There was no doubt about it - this was the man he had seen in the men’s bathroom on the 13th floor last week.

“Who’s this?” he asked, breathless and agitated.

“What?” Aziraphale blinked at him as if he remembered Crowley’s presence just now.

“This man!” Crowley snapped, pointing at the photograph. “Who is it?”

“Well,” Aziraphale said primly and pursed his lips. “The book is named ‘Arthur Hill, Biography of a Mad Man’. So, why don’t you take a wild guess who the man on the cover might be?”

“Funny, Aziraphale,” Crowley grumbled before murmuring to himself, “Not Clark Irving, then.”

“What?”

“I…,” Crowley hesitated, staring at the text on the book’s back which told him that the man he had seen a few days ago had died in 1961. 

“Crowley?” For the first time since Crowley had arrived, Aziraphale appeared to actually acknowledge his presence and when Crowley turned to face him, he saw a concerned expression on Aziraphale’s features.

“You’ll think I’m joking… or crazy.” Crowley rubbed his face with his free hand. He yearned to share all the thoughts rushing through his head with the one person he trusted fully. But he feared the truth might drive Aziraphale away from him.

Slowly Crowley turned to Aziraphale and saw that he had gotten up from his chair. His hands clasped in front of his soft stomach, he stepped closer and gave a mischievous smile.

“Well, if you promise you’re not joking, I’ll believe you,” he said. “And I think you’re a little crazy anyway.”

Crowley could not help but chuckle at that.

“What a relief,” he said with a grin.

“So?”

Crowley took a deep breath.

“This man,” he finally said, pointing at the book’s cover, “died several decades ago, according to this book.”

“Okay,” Aziraphale said. “I assume that’s not all.”

“No,” Crowley answered. “I think the most interesting part is that I saw him last week on the 13th floor.”

The expression on Aziraphale’s face changed, but not into doubt, pity or anger like Crowley had feared. Aziraphale now appeared very interested, thoughtful and attentive. 

“What exactly happened?” he asked.

As accurate as he remembered Crowley recounted what had occurred on the 13th floor and how he had tried to explain it away until a few minutes ago. The whole time Aziraphale listened carefully, his face open and encouraging but not giving away any emotion.

“So I just went home and tried shrugging it off and distracting myself,” Crowley ended his story.

“Hmmhmm.” Aziraphale nodded with furrowed brows, eyes fixed on a point at the wall. “I understand the urge to find a rational explanation.”

“Yeah, all jokes aside,” Crowley said. “Ang… Aziraphale, you know me. I don’t have the tiniest esoteric bone in me, I don’t tend to panic or hallucinate, not drunk and most certainly not if sober. Still, I understand if you don’t believe me because…”

“I believe you,” Aziraphale said.

“Really?”

Aziraphale nodded with a sigh.

“The attack on me...,” he began, his fingers fidgeting and his eyes cast downwards. “It was on the 13th as well and whoever… or whatever it was, was not human.”

“What makes you say that?”

“It appeared on the screen of an unplugged computer, jumped out and floated through the air,” Aziraphale listed with a wry smile.

“Ah, yes,” Crowley said, scratching his head. “I suppose these are good indicators.”

“Yes.”

After a deep breath Aziraphale told his story. Not only had a ghost attacked him, apparently another one had saved him. 

“Are you okay?” Crowley asked softly but quickly added, “All things considered I mean? No injuries or pain?”

“Directly after Bob had led me to the staircase, I had the feeling my body was colder where it had touched me,” Aziraphale answered. “But I’m not sure that was real. Then again, I doubted any of this had been real. But no, no real injuries.”

“Good,” Crowley said.

An awkward silence settled between them. The two of them had made an uncanny experience, similar but not the same. Crowley had been spooked by something unexplainable, but nobody and nothing had touched him. Aziraphale had been in actual danger, the thing from the computer being aggressive towards him.

Crowley could only imagine how scared Aziraphale must have been. At the last second Crowley suppressed the urge to reach out and stroke through Aziraphale’s hair, to pull him close and hold him.

Instead Crowley asked, “What now? I mean, dead men playing with the lights is one thing, but it’s obvious this… thing you encountered is dangerous. We can’t just leave it alone, but what does one do in a situation like this?”

“I know as much - or little - about this as you, dear,” Aziraphale said and gave a helpless shrug. “Since I told her, Anathema was very, erm, active so to speak. And there appeared to be a concept behind her doings, I just don’t know which one. She told me to sit here and wait. I wasn’t really in any condition to argue. Especially not with Anathema.”

After a moment of silence Aziraphale giggled a bit and Crowley chimed in.

“Yeah,” Crowley said. “She’s a handful.” He eyed all the trinkets, tokens and charms Anathema had put on Aziraphale’s desk and raised a brow. “You think this stuff helps against evil ghosts?”

Following Crowley’s gaze, Aziraphale considered the collection of items around his workspace and sighed.

“A few days ago, I would have said no,” he admitted. “But a few days ago I didn’t think I would _need_ help against evil ghosts.”

“Fair point,” Crowley said.

Light steps were audible from the corridor and Crowley saw how Aziraphale was startled by the noise. Crowley also noticed how - for a second only - Aziraphale’s whole body twitched into his ex-lovers' direction. Crowley’s heart soared. On instinct Aziraphale seemed to seek protection from him, even though he fought it down successfully.

There was no threat outside the office though. It was only Anathema returning. Without looking up from a picture she was studying, she entered the office and walked towards her desk.

“The death was ruled natural so there was barely any coverage and even less with pictures,” she said absentmindedly, ”but Newt was able to find a photograph of Bob Barmer. Maybe you could have a look and...” she looked up and raised a brow at Crowley, “You’re still here?”

“I’ll hardly leave him alone after he was attacked - by a ghost nonetheless,” Crowley snapped.

“That’s the man who saved me,” Aziraphale said as he stepped between the two, paling a little more, as he looked at the picture in her hand. “It’s the same Bob.”

“As we suspected,” she nodded and, tilting her head towards Crowley, she asked, “So you told him?”

“Yes, he…” Aziraphale stopped himself. Judging from his expression, he was unsure whether he was allowed to share what Crowley had told him.

“I had my own run-in with the ghosts of the 13th floor,” Crowley told Anathema while pointing at the biography of Arthur Hill. “I saw this man walking down the hallway and messing with the lights in the men’s loo.”

Never before since he had met her, Crowley had felt that Anathema Device was so interested in him or what he had to say. Faster than he could follow, she had replaced the photograph in her hand with a notebook and produced a pencil out of nowhere.

“Okay,” she ordered. “Start from the beginning. Which day of the week? Which time of the day? How did he look? Did he react to you? Did you feel threatened?”

Force of habit had Crowley open his mouth to tell her some variant off “fuck off, Device” and to shove her pen and paper where the sun did not shine. He did not like to be ordered around by anyone, let alone Anathema Device. But he stopped himself. Of all the people he knew, the crazy witch girl was the only person who could at least make a little sense of all this. In fact, the events on the 13th floor suggested that she was not crazy, well, less crazy than assumed before.

So he cooperated and told her what she wanted to know. While he was talking, she nodded a lot, made acknowledging sounds and for once looked at him like she took him seriously.

“Interesting,” she said when Crowley’s story ended. “Arthur Hill is one of several persons I stumbled upon while researching the building. That’s why I borrowed the book. He lived and died on the 13th and he is the one some witnesses blame for the fire shortly after. I didn’t get to read the whole biography just yet. I’m not even sure it would help.”

“Right,” Aziraphale sighed. “The book will hardly tell us whether or not he haunts his old home and, if so, why.”

“Still, it could help to know more about him,” Anathema said.

“Why don’t we split up the reading?” Crowley asked.

Both Anathema and Aziraphale snapped their head towards him. 

“What?” He lifted his arms in exasperation. “Yeah, I know for a co-owner of a publishing company, I’m not much into reading. But I think we can agree these are special circumstances, right?”

“You want to help _me_?” Anathema asked, suspicion running through her voice. “With ‘supernatural nonsense’?” 

She put air quotes around the last two words and Crowley made a placating gesture.

“I apologize for my comments on your… interests and beliefs,” he said, hoping to get across that he was being genuine. “But we’re in this together, right? None of us want to work in a haunted building and...,” he cleared his throat, put his hands in his pocket, pulled up his shoulders and averted her gaze, mumbling, “...and I think it’s very, erm, nice of you to use your knowledge to protect Aziraphale. You could just wrap yourself up in your magic stuff and leave him to fend for himself.”

“I care for him,” she said and smiled at Aziraphale who immediately reciprocated. “I want him safe.”

“So do I,” Crowley said and quickly added, “I want everyone in this building safe of course.”

“Of course,” Anathema repeated, a teasing edge to her voice.

“So, what can I do?”

A few minutes later, they were all in Crowley’s office. Crowley watched Anathema decorate his furniture with her magic clutter and draw wards on the walls with chalk (easily to remove later according to her). She wanted Aziraphale further away from the 13th floor as long as she was not sure he had been a random victim. Aziraphale refused to go home so Crowley’s office was a compromise.

Crowley had to admit she had a point. Usually the stupid elevator did not pass the 13th floor, but stopped or even got stuck on the 12th. So it was a little strange that it had delivered Aziraphale to the 13th. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but Anathema prefered being safe to being sorry and so did Crowley.

While he thought about this, Crowley’s eyes wandered over to Aziraphale who stood in the middle of the large office, appearing somewhat lost. He was wringing his hands, worrying his lips between his teeth and did not know where to look. 

A sudden and huge wave of protectiveness swept Crowley away. Who- or whatever was down there on the 13th floor, they would not have Aziraphale. This kind and loving and soft soul should not have to worry about things that go bump in the night - or about anything really.

At this moment Crowley’s plan changed from “Talk to Aziraphale” to “Get Aziraphale back”. Crowley was aware that it was a selfish plan. He had not been a great boyfriend and one might argue that Aziraphale deserved better. And if Crowley were under the impression that Aziraphale actually _did_ better without Crowley, he would back off. But the way Aziraphale smiled when they met, sweet, shy and somewhat wistful, had Crowley believe his ex-lover missed him as well. 

Not to forget the hurt in Aziraphale’s voice when they had talked on his first day. As guilty as Crowley felt about that, Crowley would not have so much power over how Aziraphale felt, if he meant nothing to him. Furthermore there was the instinctive movement of Aziraphale’s body towards Crowley when he had been spooked.

So yes, Crowley may not deserve Aziraphale, but apparently he still had him, at least partly. And Crowley would not be stupid enough to let this chance slip away. Not again.

After a while Anathema stepped into the middle of the room and let her gaze wander along the walls. Finally she nodded, satisfied with her work. 

“This should keep evil spirits out,” she announced and handed Crowley the biography of Arthur Hill. “So you don’t get bored. I have enough reading to do and since you and Mr. Hill already got acquainted…”

“Very funny,” Crowley sighed, but took the book from her hand and nodded. “But, yeah, I offered to read it, so I will.”

And he really tried. After Anathema had left the two men in Crowley’s office, Aziraphale opened his laptop and - stubborn as he was - tried to act like nothing was wrong and worked. Despite the large size of the desk, Crowley sat down right next to him, revelled in Aziraphale blushing at the proximity and started reading.

Reading had never been Crowley’s favourite pastime and if he read it were most certainly not biographies, so he had to remind himself to focus, even though Arthur Hill was not an uninteresting figure by any means. 

Born a poor man’s son in 1889, he joined the army at 16 but an injury of unknown origin rendered him unfit for duty in 1907. He started working for a merchant who soon was impressed by the young man’s wit and dedication. The merchant taught Hill his business and in 1920, Hill opened up his own shop, the first of many. In 1935 at the age of 46 Arthur Hill was a rich man. Now able to afford it, he started several collections, later in life specializing on the occult. 

Crowley realized that this was probably the beginning of the important part and he should pay close attention. He rubbed his eyes and grabbed his mug to have a huge sip of coffee. Instead he tasted Earl Grey. This was not his mug.

“This was my tea,” Aziraphale scolded, throwing a disapproving glance at Crowley which was too adorable.

Crowley chuckled, “Aww, Aziraphale, you’ve had my cock in your mouth but can’t share your mug with me?”

From one second to the next Aziraphale’s pretty face took on a beautiful scarlet tone.

“For one,” he said starchily, with a confidence he probably did not feel at the moment. “it’s really rude not to ask before drinking from someone else’s mug and for two, it’s highly inappropriate to talk about your manhood in front of an employer.”

“Oh, come on! I just stated a fact about you sucking my cock in the past,” Crowley said with a smirk. “It’s not that I told you to suck my cock unless you wanna get fired,” he saw Aziraphale blush even deeper and avert his gaze and with a smug smile, Crowley husked, “You’d like that though, wouldn’t you?”

“I… what? No!”

Crowley saw his chance, an opening in his angel’s defence and so he struck. With one quick move he was out of his chair and his hands on the armrests of Aziraphale’s. Before Aziraphale could react at all, Crowley spun the stool around, forcing Aziraphale to face him. 

With a complacent grin he looked into Aziraphale’s wide blue eyes while he pushed the chair against the wall and pinned Aziraphale with his body.

“No use in lying, Aziraphale,” he purred. “Did you think I forgot how much you enjoy power play?”

“This is not…”

“You’d love to be the helpless pretty little thing, completely at the mercy of his devilishly handsome but cruel boss,” Crowley continued, unfazed. Ignoring Aziraphale’s protests, he closed the laptop and put it in a safe distance from the desk.

“Crowley, I… you… you can’t just…,” Aziraphale sputtered, now beet red. “This is outrageous… and… you… I won’t…”

Within the blink of an eye, Crowley was on him again, looming over him with a condescending mien. 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” Crowley said with a stern expression as he grabbed Aziraphale’s chin. “I expect a little more obedience from my employers, Mr. Fell. I hope you’re willing to make up for this lapse in…,” he brushed his nose along Aziraphale’s while one of his hands found its way into the soft blond curls, “...other departments.”

Letting out a sweet little whimper, Aziraphale - probably unconsciously - bared his throat and Crowley took the opportunity to scrape his teeth along the sensitive skin, feeling how Aziraphale swallowed hard. When Crowley spoke again, his tone was even but dark.

“Still waiting for an answer, Mr. Fell,” he said. “And you know I hate to wait.”

Crowley used his hold on Aziraphale’s hair to make him look into Crowley’s eyes. Aziraphale’s pupils were widened, but Crowley saw a hint of trepidation. His common sense screamed at Crowley to go slower, but it was barely audible over the rushing of his blood and his laboured breath.

And the voice of reason died away completely, when Aziraphale’s lashes fluttered, he looked at Crowley through half-lidded eyes and answered in a coy voice, “Yes, I’m sorry, Mr. Crowley. For disobeying you and making you wait,” he whispered, “Please don’t fire me. I’ll accept any measures you see fit.”

With a low growl Crowley pulled Aziraphale from the chair and all but threw him on the desk. 

“You better,” he rumbled.

Roughly he pushed his lower body between Aziraphale’s legs and bent down to steal a filthy kiss. Both moaned as their tongues met and their erections brushed against each other through their trousers. 

After a while Crowley - somewhat reluctant but needs must - pulled away. He pointed at Aziraphale’s clothes and ordered, “Waistcoat and shirt open, trousers off.”

Then he marched over to the door to lock it. Satisfied, he heard from behind how Aziraphale fumbled with his attire. As fast as he could, Crowley turned the key and went back to the desk where a cute blond author was busy ridding himself of his trousers. His coat and shirt were unbuttoned already, revealing a broad chest and soft stomach dusted with light blond hair.

Full of greed and lust, Crowley pushed Aziraphale back on the desk and started roaming along the plush body with both hands. Then he pulled Aziraphale’s trousers off and spread the sturdy legs. Aziraphale’s lovely cock, thick and long, was hard for Crowley, precum shimmering at the head, twitching under Crowley’s touches.

“That’s more like it, Mr. Fell” he said between ragged breaths. “Be a good little plaything for me and I’ll forget about your defiance.”

Aziraphale nodded, “Thank you, Mr. Crowley.”

“Get my cock out,” Crowley demanded and Aziraphale hurried to obey.

His soft fingers unbuttoned the fly of Crowley’s tight pants and he pulled them down as far as needed to free Crowley’s throbbing erection. Aziraphale circled his right hand around the shaft and started to stroke, looking up at Crowley expectantly.

Crowley pressed his lips together and rubbed his thumb along Aziraphale’s mouth.

“I’d love for you to suck my cock, Mr. Fell,” he said wistfully. “But I fear this would be over too soon then and I really want your arse.”

A shudder went through Aziraphale’s body at the blunt words, but he nodded while a pink blush spread on his face.

“Keep going,” Crowley told him and opened the top drawer of his desk, fishing out a bottle of lube.

An expression of hurt rushed over Aziraphale’s face as he saw what Crowley kept in his office, but he remained silent and Crowley did not want to ruin the moment with explanations. Later would be enough time. So he uncapped the bottle.

Willingly Aziraphale spread his legs wider while Crowley poured the slick liquid over his fingers. Aziraphale gasped when he was breached and Crowley’s cock throbbed with need and want as he watched his partner’s face contort in pleasure. With practised ease he found Aziraphale’s prostate, drawing even more lovely noises from him.

Maybe Crowley was not as patient as he should have been during preparation, but it had been so goddamn long since he last had taken Aziraphale. So now that he was right there, spread out like a feast just for Crowley, it was hard to go slow.

However, even though Crowley was a bit rough, he made sure Aziraphale was stretched and wet for him. Crowley also cast him an inquiring look and did not proceed before Aziraphale gave him an affirmative nod. 

Crowley pressed the tip of his cock against Aziraphale’s hole, the head catching at the entrance. Aziraphale moaned and arched his back as if trying to get closer to Crowley who was happy to oblige. He covered Aziraphale’s body with his own and started kissing and nipping at his companion’s throat.

“I guess it’s time to remind you who’s the boss here,” he whispered between his licks and bites. “To put you in your place.”

Then Crowley’s lips were on Aziraphale’s again, his hands circled around Aziraphale’s wrists, holding him down, and he pushed in with a feral and possessive sound.

Aziraphale was tight around him. Maybe too tight even. Crowley broke the kiss to observe his partner’s face. Aziraphale’s eyes were pressed shut, his teeth dug into his bottom lip and pearls of sweat adorned his forehead.

Crowley moved to pull out again and resume preparation despite his burning need, but Aziraphale gripped his shoulders.

“Please don’t,” he whispered. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s been a while,” Aziraphale smiled. “I’m just a bit tight.”

“Oh yes, you are,” Crowley moaned. “But…”

“No buts.” Aziraphale shook his head and begged, “Please take me.”

A deep guttural groan was all the answer Crowley could give and when Aziraphale rolled his hips, Crowley was done for. He growled and started moving. His hips snapped against Aziraphale’s plush butt again and again at an increasing pace.

After a few minutes Crowley finally let go of Aziraphale’s wrists and pushed himself up. Full of admiration he looked down at the man beneath him: so pretty, so pliant and so fully his at this very moment.

“Gorgeous little thing,” Crowley panted. “You feel so good. So good for me.”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale put his hands on Crowley’s waist, putting on light pressure, encouraging Crowley to go faster and deeper. 

Crowley did, overwhelmed by the sensations. 

“Always playing coy but just in need of a good fucking, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Swaying this cute arse right in front of me - you’ve practically been begging for my cock.”

The possessive bites Crowley applied to Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder became harsher with every thrust while Aziraphale egged him on with encouraging sighs, moans and whimpers. 

It did not take long for Crowley to feel his climax approaching, no matter how much he wished for this to last forever. He braced himself on one arm and took Aziraphale’s cock in his free hand. Only a few strokes along the hot and hard shaft were needed for Aziraphale to tense and tighten around Crowley’s cock. They climaxed almost simultaneously, Crowley’s name like a prayer on Aziraphale’s lips and Crowley’s head thrown back with a hissed “Yes”. 

Exhausted, Crowley let himself fall, careful not to hurt Aziraphale. While Crowley’s breath evened out and he came down from his high, reality hit him hard.

This had been amazing, but not wise. Fucking Aziraphale hard and fast on a desk six months after their break-up was not how he should go about getting him back. 

Crowley swallowed. He knew that Aziraphale usually needed a few seconds longer to get back to himself. That was all the time Crowley had to come up with something very smart, very empathetic and very comforting to say to leave the rocky road he had maneuvered himself on and get back on track.

Trying to appear relaxed and casual, he searched the top drawer for tissues, and his mind for appropriate words. The former he found and started to tenderly clean up his lover? Ex-lover? Again-lover? 

Aziraphale looked at him through half-lidded eyes, still a little dazed but slowly coming to. He braced himself on his elbows, sitting up, waiting. Waiting for Crowley to say something.

Crowley was busy getting himself decent again which gave him an excuse and bought another moment to collect himself. After endless seconds he cleared his throat and was about to speak when a movement in the corner of his eye distracted him. His head snapped towards the motion, but there was nothing except for the book he was supposed to read. Crowley remembered to have left it open, but now it was closed.

He shook his head. Of course it had fallen shut. Aziraphale and he had rocked the boat or, in this case, the table quite a lot. So Crowley turned his attention to Aziraphale again.

“Hey there,” he said softly. “Are you al…?”

Again he saw something to his right, but when he looked, there was nothing.

“Aziraphale,” he tried again.

This time, however, it was Aziraphale who interrupted. He jumped from the desk with a scream and grabbed Crowley’s arm, pointing at the book. 

“It moved!” he exclaimed.

Crowley gulped and nodded.

“I think I saw it, too.”

Gathering his courage, Crowley stepped towards the book, Aziraphale following, clinging to his arm. At first glance there was nothing wrong with it and Crowley stretched out his hand to grab it, but then he halted. Frowning he looked closer at the cover. The man’s eyes were closed! Crowley was sure they should be open. A) Because who would put a photograph on a biography with the person of interest’s eyes closed and B) Crowley had _seen_ them being open!

Confused, he took the book and waved it in front of Aziraphale’s face.

“This is crazy, angel,” he said. “I swear…”

Arthur Hill’s eyes snapped open. 

Yelling in shock, Crowley dropped the book and it landed on the desk again. Crowley and Aziraphale watched in horror as Arthur Hill’s now opened eyes began to roll back into Hill’s head until only the white was left and the rest of his face contorted into an unnatural expression of what might have been pain or rage. His lips parted in a silent scream as the book began to shake and jump across the desk. Crowley positioned himself between Aziraphale and the book, in the process pressing Aziraphale against the wall behind them.

While Crowley considered grabbing Aziraphale and making a run for the door, the book’s movements became so fast that it blurred before their eyes. But before Crowley could decide on a course of action, suddenly all motion ceased and the book lay still.

Crowley and Aziraphale observed with fascinated horror how the cover began to waver and Arthur Hill’s contorted features rippled. They could do nothing but watch as a pale, transparent figure rose from the book.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, for the delay, had a bit of bad luck last week. I'm not sure, I can finish before Halloween now, but I hope you'll enjoy the chapter and won't mind reading the end in November. ;)

Aziraphale clung to Crowley’s arm. The warmth emanating from Crowley stood in a stark - and welcomed - contrast to the air of the room which was ice-cold all of a sudden. Some hours must have passed since they had come here and the gloomy autumn afternoon had not much sun to spare for Crowley’s office. The only sources of light were Crowley’s desk lamp and the greenish shimmering floating shape, manifesting above the biography of Arthur Hill.

Horrified Aziraphale stared at the pal figure that rose from the book, blurry at first but soon morphing into the form of an old man. Hysterically Aziraphale thought that it would be nice to at least be dressed when confronted with a ghost, but he did not dare take his eyes off the thing to retrieve his trousers.

So he hid behind Crowley who had managed to get himself presentable again before the ghost’s appearance - once more far less affected by one of their encounters than Aziraphale. The thought rushed through Aziraphale’s mind despite the situation and he forced it away to focus on the matter at hand.

So far the thing did not attack. It levitated above the desk, his face undoubtedly Arthur Hill’s, his upper body looking human, dressed in tweed, but the rest just a flowy mass still connected to the book.

He looked around the room until his eyes fell on the two men in front of the desk. Immediately his gaze locked on them. Slow and deliberate, he floated closer and closer, closer still, looming over them.

Suddenly Aziraphale was yanked aside. Crowley pulled him along as he made a run for the door. Unfortunately Aziraphale was not prepared for this and lost his balance, sending both men flying to the ground.

Crowley cursed. Aziraphale stared at the carpet’s pattern and swallowed hard. Now he was not only going to fall victim to the ghost after all, it was also his fault that Crowley suffered the same fate.

On shaking arms Aziraphale pushed himself up so he could turn around. He shrieked as he saw the ghost right in front of him. The thin ghostly hand of Arthur Hill reached out for him, the spindly fingers so close that Aziraphale could see the outlines of the bloodless veins, cold spreading from the dead limbs.

“This is no place for you, mortals,” the ghost spoke in a reedy voice. “Ghan’lach’s chains are weakened and soon will break.”

With a loud bang the door burst open. Anathema rushed in, a determined expression on her face and a tiny linen bag in her hands.

“Leave,” she ordered, plain and simple, while she ripped open the bag and threw the content - a fine white powder - towards the ghost.

Arthur Hill’s form wavered and blurred and a tortured sound escaped him. Some invisible force seemed to push him back to the book. He fought it, but whatever it was, apparently was stronger than he.

Before he was sucked into the book, he pointed a bony finger at the two men and the woman, staring at him.

“You’d better run, mortals,” he croaked. “It is too late. Run and hope Ghan’lach does not follow.”

For a long moment all three of them just looked at the book in silence.

“How…?” Crowley began.

“Had a bad feeling,” Anathema answered his unfinished question. Then she turned to close the door. Keeping her eyes fixed on it, she said, “Aziraphale get dressed, please. We have things to do.”

Feeling his face heat up, Aziraphale rushed to grab his trousers and put them on. After buttoning up his shirt, he could not help but think how undignified death would have been a few moments before.

Finally he announced, “All set.” far more cheerful than he felt and followed Anathema out of the door, not daring to look at Crowley.

They stepped into the corridor. Usually Aziraphale found it cold and impersonal with its impeccable white walls, the too bright lamps and the lack of decoration. But now he welcomed the neutral, clear and - most of all - well-lit simplicity of it all.

Bianca A. Byss and Gabriel Ether seemed to be out, but a few other people were still at their workplaces or wandering around. Except for some polite nods and greetings they paid no mind to Anathema, Crowley or Aziraphale. Had nobody heard or seen anything at all?

As if of one mind, the three of them walked by the elevator without even considering using it. On the staircase, finally out of their colleague’s sight, Anathema addressed them.

“This is bad,” she said.

“No kidding,” Crowley deadpanned.

“No. I mean, yes.” Anathema pushed her glasses up with a thoughtful expression. “But I had the theory that the hauntings were somehow confined to the thirteenth floor. The reports start in the 1960s…”

“That’s when Hill died.”

“Exactly. Most sightings were on the 13th where Arthur had lived. Very few were not, but I thought those were fakes, either imagination or lies.”

“What now?” Aziraphale asked, trying his best to control his emotions. He had almost been killed by a ghost after falling back to bed, well, to the desk with his ex. And while Aziraphale’s emotions ran wild, said ex stood there, cool and unaffected, hands in his pockets, eyes focused on Anathema, the only trace of their encounter his slightly ruffled hair.

_No, no crying. Focus on Anathema, too!_

“That name… Ghan’lach. I may have heard it before,” Anathema said slowly, her brows furrowed, her teeth digging into her bottom lip while she seemed far away for a moment. Finally she said, “We should go see someone,” she cast Crowley a pointed look, “assuming we can have the day off…, boss?”

Crowley rolled his eyes and nodded, gesturing wildly for her to hurry up.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “We need information. Lead the way, Aziraphale and I are right behind you.”

“Alright then.” Anathema pulled out her phone. “Let me call Newt real quick to ask if we can borrow his car.”

“The blue one?” Crowley exclaimed, ripping the phone from her hand.

“Oh, you’ve seen it?”

“How could I have missed that abomination? No way am I getting into that hobbit ride. We’ll take my car.”

“Actually he bought a new one.”

“Yeah, I don’t trust his taste in cars after seeing his last,” Crowley said. “We’ll still take mine.”

As they passed the 13th floor, they heard some commotion. Angry male voices sounded through the fire door, hard to understand since they all spoke at the same time. Exchanging glances with Anathema and Crowley, Aziraphale saw that they both were too curious to just walk by either and he nodded.

Crowley opened the fire door and they all peeked into the corridor behind. No other than Sandal Byss stood there, surrounded by a bunch of construction workers who apparently tried to convince him to leave, their choice of words getting more colourful by the minute.

“I will not be told what to do by the likes of you!” Sandal announced, his nose held high as he looked up to the tall men. “Dirty little…”

“Oy, mate,” the oldest of the workers, probably the foreman, spoke over him. “You may wanna rethink what you were gonna say about my men. Look, I don’t personally care if you’re arrogant arse or stupid head gets hit by a loose brick or gets an electrical shock from a broken cable, but the lads and lassies from the insurance company and from the safety department do. So get out. Now!”

“Couldn’t agree more!” Crowley said with a broad grin, leaning in the doorframe. “Sandal! Still not sick of us?”

Sandal Byss just scoffed.

“Boss.” The foreman greeted.

“Bill,” Crowley nodded respectfully.

“You know that guy?”

“Briefly,” Crowley smirked. “Listen, I pay your lawyer and bribe all the witnesses if you accidentally drop your hammer on his feet.”

Bill and the other workers laughed. Sandal huffed, pushed them aside and stormed past Crowley.

“This…”

“…isn’t over?” Aziraphale finished for him with a saccharine smile.

“Argh!” Sandal Byss stormed down the stairs, muttering curses under his breath.

When he was no longer to hear, Crowley turned to the construction men.

“Good job, guys,” he commended. “Where did you find the little rat?”

“One of the conference rooms, Mr. Crowley, the second from the left,” Bill answered. “Don’t know what he hoped to find there, to be honest. Most valuable thing there is currently Jim’s lunchbox.”

“Yeah, and he better not touch that,” said a broad big-shouldered man behind Bill.

Again the men laughed and Bill sent them back to work. Crowley thanked him once more for cornering Sandal Byss and asked for them to be on the lookout, in case he would return.

“Sure thing, boss!” Bill grinned and resumed to do his job.

Back on the staircase, Crowley shook his head.

“What does the little scumbag want?” he wondered aloud while they went down towards the lobby. “In the 13th of all floors? There is nothing at the moment.”

“He wouldn’t do something as extreme as setting a fire or placing a bomb, would he?” Aziraphale asked anxiously.

Crowley hummed, thinking, but then said, “No. I mean, he hates his sister. And Gabe. And me. But no.., I… no, he wouldn’t. Don’t worry.”

*

A few minutes later, they stood in front of Crowley’s black Bentley in the parking lot, sending Aziraphale on memory lane again. He swallowed hard. Not only were the pictures of the past, rushing through his mind, rather unhelpful as he tried to put his emotional issues aside, he also did not know where to sit.

During their relationship he had of course sat beside Crowley. Did he still have that privilege? Would it be presumptuous to climb into the passenger seat? Would it be rude to sit in the back?

Apparently Anathema saw the conflict on his face and with an empathetic smile put a hand on his shoulder.

“Is it alright, if I take the front seat?” she asked. “I easily get sick in the back.”

“Oh, of course, dear,” Aziraphale said and whispered, “Thank you,” before climbing into the back seat.

“Where to?” Crowley asked.

“My aunt,” Anathema said. “I’ll give you directions.”

When everyone was secured, Crowley started the car and steered it out of the parking lot. Then he followed Anathema’s instructions.

Aziraphale did his best, but could not help stealing glances at Crowley’s sharp profile. As always in the driver’s seat, Crowley looked like a king on his throne. The long legs moved slightly as Crowley operated the pedals, and looking at the large hands on the steering wheel, Aziraphale could not help remembering how dexterous they were and how many orgasms he had had on the backseat _and_ the front seats of this car.

Lost in this memories, Aziraphale paid no attention to their journey. The sudden halt of the car ended his day dreaming, the dirty images his mind had provided slipping back into the vault of his memory.

They were parked in front of a nice but nondescript little house in a suburban area. They all left the car and Aziraphale and Crowley followed Anathema as she opened the small iron gate and walked up the path that led to the house.

The garden was wild but beautiful. Autumn had been lenient so far with the plants here. Colourful wildflowers grew in the high green grass and the trees still stood full, their leaves showing off the richest red and gold Aziraphale had ever seen on a tree.

The only cultivated part of the garden was a small compartment close to the house. Several herbs were growing there, even though Aziraphale was sure that those he could identify were out of season at the moment.

But he had seen weirder things in the last few days than plants defying the weather and so he shrugged it off. He let his eyes wander over the garden – to take in its wild beauty and to avoid looking at Crowley.

Arriving at the door, Anathema was about to knock when the door opened before she could.

“Anathema, darling, come in,” a woman of around 60 years greeted her. Her kinship with Anathema was easy to see, but especially their eyes gave it away. She gestured towards Aziraphale and Crowley. “You, too, lads, come in.”

The woman, according to the sign at her door Agnes Nutter, turned and disappeared into her house, Anathema on her heels. For a moment Aziraphale met Crowley’s eyes. They both shrugged and followed.

Agnes led them through a small corridor towards a fascinating kitchen. On an old fashioned stove some kind of soup was cooking, several glasses with spices and herbs were placed on a narrow wooden shelf and an impressive collection of handwritten recipe books stood on another. On the large table in the room’s centre a nice tea set waited for them, four steaming cups already prepared.

“I have been expecting you,” Agnes provided the answer to Aziraphale’s silent question. “Take a seat.”

They took the invitation. Awkwardly Aziraphale sat at the table, too busy contemplating the day’s events to drink his tea, but Agnes Nutter was not having this.

“Drink, lad,” she told him. “And have a biscuit.”

She held a tray in front of his face and with a stern but warm look she nodded towards it, urging him to take one. Nodding, he obliged.

Agnes was a beautiful woman. Not in the way young girls are beautiful, but women who took the challenges of life, experiencing their fair share of triumph and loss. Her hair was grey but full, falling in soft waves onto her shoulders. Lines of laughter, tears and worry had been carved into her delicate features and despite her age showing on her face, there was a glint of youthful fire and even mischief sparkling in her dark eyes.

When Aziraphale nibbled his biscuit and drank his tea, Agnes made an appreciative noise before taking a seat as well, looking and smiling at her niece.

“So, darling,” she said. “What brings you here?”

Patiently Agnes listened when Anathema recounted the events of the last days and the story of the building she worked in. When Anathema finished, Agnes scratched her chin.

“This name, Ghan’lach, indeed rings a bell,” she said. “Celtic druid. 6th century, I think. I should have some literature to help us.”

“6th century?” Aziraphale repeated, a bit confused. “Why wait with a haunting until the 1960s?”

Agnes Nutter hummed in agreement and said, “Good question. But keep in mind that time works different for those not bound to the physical plane. Besides, a haunting is not necessarily bound to a place. It can be an object or even a person.”

“And how does Hill come into this?”

“I read that Hill started collecting occult stuff later in life,” Crowley suddenly chimed in. “Maybe he got curious about dark rituals or something?”

“Would a dark ritual summon a dead druid?” Aziraphale asked. “Not, I don’t know, a demon?”

“Ghan’lach as far as I know is both,” Agnes answered.

“How so?”

“Ghan’lach was born a normal man of a different name, but in a failed ritual his soul merged with a demon or an evil spirit. After that, he called himself Ghan’lach. Whether this was the name of the creature or if it had a certain meaning in the creature’s language, nobody knows.”

“What happened to him?” Aziraphale asked.

“I don’t know, I’m afraid,” Agnes said. “But my books may give us some insight.”

“Let’s hope so,” Anathema sighed. “The building always gave me bad vibes, but I feel a change and it’s not for the better.”

“Yeah,” Crowley laughed without humour. “I never saw a ghost in the building and now two within a few days.”

“To be fair, it was the same one twice,” Aziraphale said.

“Much better,” Crowley said sarcastically.

Aziraphale averted his gaze real quick, unsure if he had made Crowley angry.

After a few moments of silence, Anathema cleared her throat.

“Agnes, why don’t you go ahead to the library with Crowley?” she suggested. “Aziraphale and I will be there in a minute with more tea.”

Raising a brow at the half full tea pot, Agnes gave an understanding nod and gestured towards the door.

“Follow me, lad,” she told Crowley and marched out, Crowley with a sigh walking behind.

As soon as the kitchen door fell shut between them, Aziraphale pretended to study Agnes’ herb collection, even though he knew it would not save him from what was to come.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” Anathema asked softly.

“I don’t…”

“Don’t you dare telling me you didn’t know what I mean,” Anathema told him. “When I came to save you two from that ghost, your shirt was unbuttoned and you wore no trousers! And unless Arthur Hill’s ghost is a huge pervert…”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Aziraphale interrupted and admitted, “Before the ghost appeared, we…”

“Yes, I know what you did, Aziraphale,” Anathema said with stern expression. “What I do not understand is why. You won’t get over him any easier if you let him screw you on his desk.”

“I know,” Aziraphale whined. “But he is so… He just… overwhelms me… The way he looks at me, smiles at me, touches me, the way he whispers in my ear when we…”

“Ooookay, that’s enough information,” Anathema hurried to say and then sighed, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have left you two alone.”

“I’m not a child that needs protection,” Aziraphale pouted. “I slept with him because I wanted to. I was scared because of the whole… haunting situation. And Crowley… I always feel so safe with him, the closer the better.”

Anathema smiled lightly, tilted her head and gave him an inquiring look.

“That’s all?” she asked.

Sighing, Aziraphale bit his lip. Eyes hefted on the pattern of Agnes Nutters’ kitchen curtains, he remained silent for a moment. Then he shook his head and ran his fingers through his hair in a nervous gesture.

“No,” he finally whispered. “I still love him,” he sniffled, “so, so much. And now he had me again and I’m a mess and he is… just him, cool, relaxed and casual, like, like nothing happened and I…”

When Anathema pulled him into a tight hug, Aziraphale stopped talking and cried a bit into her shoulders.

“I miss him so much,” he spoke into the fabric of her sweatshirt. “For half a year I tried not to. It didn’t work without seeing him. What an idiot I was to think, I could get over him while working for his company.”

“You’re not an idiot, sweety,” Anathema said while patting his back. “But you need to take better care of yourself. We get this ghost sorted out and then we’ll make a plan for that silly heart of yours, deal?”

Sniffling, Aziraphale pulled himself away from her and nodded.

“Deal,” he smiled.

“Great,” she said. “Let’s join the others.”

To say that Agnes Nutter’s library was on the second floor would not have been exactly right. The second floor _was_ her library. After taking the stairs up, Aziraphale’s mouth fell open. Directly from the top of the stairs one stepped between bookshelves. It were not as many books as had been in his bookshop of course and one swipe across the titles told him that they were limited to the topics of magic, witchcraft and other occult topics. But still, Aziraphale experienced a feeling of home, walking along shelves of dark wood, holding dozens of interesting books. The shelves lined along the walls completely, safe for two little gaps, in one an old grandfather clock, one with a narrow door.

“Agnes has one of the biggest collections of books that are occult or about the occult,” Anathema whispered behind him.

“I believe that,” Aziraphale said, while letting his gaze wander in amazement.

Agnes and Crowley had already taken seats in two of five cosy armchairs in the room’s centre. On a table between them lay a few books.

“Hey,” Crowley greeted Anathema and Aziraphale, but only looked at the latter and winked.

Flustered, Aziraphale lifted his hand to wave and smiled, until Anathema behind him cleared her throat.

“Apparently Agnes and Crowley already found some books to start with,” she said. “Let’s each grab one and start digging.”

“Didn’t you two want to make tea?”

“Oh, we... changed our minds, wouldn’t want to spill on the books,” Anathema said.

“Right.”

“Right.”

So everyone was soon engrossed in texts about Celtic Magic, Druids and ancient ritual. At one point in the evening Newt joined them. Apparently he had asked Anathema out via text message and she had told him what they were doing.

To Aziraphale’s surprise, Newt took the haunting news in stride and just joined them in their research.

According to the books, Ghan’lach had indeed lived in the 6th century, making most of the texts about him more legend than documentation. A lot of information was even contradictory.

But some things all the stories had in common and after many hours of reading, taking and comparing notes, at some point deep in the night, they had collected these common factors and Anathema summarized:

“Ghan’lach was born as Caom and he indeed was a druid. He was a talented young man with skills far above his age, but apparently these skills made him careless,” Anathema paused and sighed, “Men. One year, on the eve of Samhain he tried a dangerous ritual and failed. Which ritual exactly and to what purpose the stories differ, but all sources agree that due to the failed ritual, Caom’s soul merged with some sort of evil bodiless creature. After that, he called himself Ghan’lach – like Agnes said, it’s either the demon’s or spirit’s name or means something for the creature. After the merge his magic powers grew, but his body deteriorated until he perished, leaving nothing but his tainted soul. Nevertheless he was still very powerful and dangerous and so he was trapped, either by one or more other druids, the sources disagree here, too.”

“Do we know how or where he was trapped?” Newt asked.

“Ah, yes and no” Anathema said, turning the paper in her hand “Some sources speak of a weapon, maybe a dagger or knife, others of a coin, one even of a shoe.”

“Imagine having a very fancy right shoe, but the left is possessed by the spirit of an evil druid,” Crowley said with a sigh.

“Yes, I hate it when that happens,” Aziraphale dead-panned. “But seriously, whatever it was, it has to be broken anyway, right? Else he would not be able to haunt the building.”

“We don’t know if he does,” Anathema says. “Arthur Hill does, Bob Barmer does, Ghan’lach we aren’t sure.”

“Don’t you think he could be the faceless ghost who attacked Aziraphale in the conference room?” Crowley asked.

“He could be yes, but he could just be a beacon for other ghosts, lure and/or manipulate them,” Anathema said. “And there is another thing: While researching the reports of ghostly activity, I found that the encounters were more intense and dangerous during October, especially shortly before and on Halloween.”

“The failed ritual Caom performed…” Aziraphale said. “He did it on the eve of Samhain.”

“Exactly,” Anathema nodded excitedly. “So it’s not farfetched that whatever took over his soul, is somehow connected to Samhain and therefor grows stronger when it approaches.”

“Strong enough to act even though he is confined and maybe strong enough to leave the 13th floor and if only for a while,” Aziraphale said.

“Yes, I think, that is possible,” Anathema said. “Agnes? What do you think? Agnes?”

All eyes were now on the older woman who just stared straight forward without saying a word. Her gaze was unfocused and her expression inscrutable.

“Agnes?”

“Mrs. Nutter?” Concerned, Aziraphale put a hand on her shoulder, but she did not react.

Suddenly her lids started to flutter and she began to shake. Crowley was on his feet, helping Aziraphale to stop her from falling.

“We should call a…”

Agnes drew in a loud and sharp breath and her eyes snapped open again. With a voice that was hers and still had nothing in common with the usual warm timbre, she spoke.

“One man, weak of heart, destroyed the first stone without knowing.

One man, blinded by emotions, stole the second for a false promise,

One man, strong and loyal, felled the third for he was told to by the ignorant

And the fourth stone will fall in the longest of nights to Ghan’lach.”

While the three men just stared in confusion, Anathema grabbed pen and paper and quickly started scribbling.

After a while Agnes blinked. With a groan she stretched her limbs and looked at Aziraphale and Crowley who still had grabbed her shoulders and arms.

“I did it again, didn’t I?” she asked.

“Yes,” Anathema said.

“At least I didn’t lie on the floor afterwards this time,” Agnes jested. “Finding myself in the arms of two handsome lads is a nice change.”

Aziraphale felt his face heat up, but Crowley smirked.

“I knew you were a sly one,” he told Agnes before letting go of her. “I’ll get you some water.”

With that he went towards the stairs. Agnes patted Aziraphale’s hand to indicate that he could let go now to and turned to Anathema.

“I don’t remember much,” she said. “All this research about Ghan’lach apparently created a connection to him. What did I say?”

Anathema showed Agnes her notes and Agnes hummed thoughtfully.

“I did not see any stones in my vision, I mostly felt things,” she said. “But especially that second sentence is worrying.”

“Why?” Newt asked, scratching his head. “I find them all kind of worrying.”

“Oh, sure they are,” Agnes said. “But ’for a false promise’ seems to indicate that someone made a pact with Ghan’lach and this kind of deal never bodes well for the human party. Ghan’lach gave something and will want something.”

“Like what?”

“Well, what I felt was the desperate longing to be in human form again,” Agnes said. “He wants a body. And someone who already made a deal with him…”

“…is weak against him,” Anathema sighed. “But who? If he is only strong enough to communicate in October, it has to be one of the construction workers. But when they are on the 13th, they only work in pairs. I doubt one of them was alone long enough to steal something after talking to a ghost.”

“Maybe we could talk to them?” Aziraphale suggested. “Find out who may be ‘blinded by emot…’,” he halted mid sentence and his head snapped to Anathema. “Sandal Byss! He was so angry at his sister that Gabriel and I feared he would physically attack her. And he was at the 13th alone – at least two times.”

“Sandal is definitely dumb and angry enough to make a deal with the devil.” Crowley came back, carrying a glass of water. “Good thinking, Aziraphale.”

“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, avoiding Crowley’s eyes.

“Okay,” said Newt. “So Sandal Byss is stupid enough to fall for the ghost, but wouldn’t he have to give _explicit_ permission for his body to be taken over? That’s not something the spirit can achieve due to some clever wording, right?”

“That’s true,” Anathema said. “As I said, a pact with a demon makes the victim weak against the demon, easier to manipulate to accept a deal that is not beneficial for the victim, even if the first deal maybe was.”

“What about the stones?” Newt asked. “What are they? And what are they for?”

“We have to find out,” Anathema said. “Apparently there are four stones and Ghan’lach will destroy the last one on Halloween. Even if we don’t know why, but it must be bad to destroy the stone if Ghan’lach wants it destroyed. As for the promise: Ghan’lach probably promised to help Sandal with his problems, but this won’t turn out how Sandal expects.”

“How do we stop Ghan’lach? I mean, can we?” Newt asked anxiously.

“We sure will try,” Anathema said, her chin up and her posture straight. “Despite the spooky building I like my job and the people I work with, “she grinned, “most of them.”

Agnes got on wobbly feet, but shook her head as the three men jumped up to support her.

“You need to be prepared,” she spoke. From one of the shelves she took a small chest and opened it. She handed Aziraphale two crystals. One lightblue, one white.

“Oh, I know these!” Aziraphale recognized that they were similar to the ones Anathema had gifted to him. “One warns when evil is nearby, one wards it off.”

“Correct. This one is even more precise. Its light will shine brighter the closer you are to the evil source,” Agnes smiled, but then concern spread on her face. “I just don’t know if it will be enough.”

For a moment Aziraphale stared at the crystals, a bit anxious. But suddenly a thought rushed through his mind.

“We assume that the creature in question is a creature of Samhain, right?” he asked and when Agnes and Anathema nodded, he continued: “There is a day in spring called Beltane, isn’t there? Where Samhain is about the end of things, about the past, death and the dead, Beltane is about new beginnings, the future and life. It’s quite the opposite, right? So maybe…”

Anathema grabbed Aziraphale’s face and kissed his nose, “Yes, of course! Great idea!”

“Brilliant lad,” Agnes commended.

The two women went to the small door and disappeared into the room behind it. Crowley, Aziraphale and Newt exchanged confused looks but accepted that these were weird times with weird things going on.

After half an hour, Agnes and Anathema returned, both holding a short stake in each hand.

“We’re expecting vampires now?” Crowley pointed at the make-shift weapons.

“Funny,” Anathema said dryly. “The wood we used is from a maypole.”

“You have maypoles in there?” Newt pointed at the door.

“In parts,” Agnes said with a wink. “You never know when you need it.”

“Obviously,” Crowley said.

“Symbols can hold a lot of power, lad,” Agnes told him.

Anathema handed each man one of the stakes and kept one herself. At her belt Aziraphale noticed a bag that had not been there before, but he trusted she would tell him about it if necessary.

“You need to stop him soon,” Agnes said. “Ghan’lach has been trapped for centuries, but something is different. He is more powerful for some reason and on Halloween his power will reach its peak.”

As soon as she had finished, her old clock struck midnight with 12 loud gongs.

Aziraphale swallowed. He got out his phone and pressed the home button. The screen lit up, announcing: 0:00, October 30th.

*

The red light of the rising sun reflected from the glass front of the building. Some people were already working, the lights from their windows speaking of their presence.

Last night Crowley had wanted to go back to the building immediately and kick out whatever ghost haunted it, better sooner than later. Especially since they only had one day left until Halloween. But the others – not entirely wrong – had remarked that they all needed sleep and that facing a creature of the night at such a late hour might be disadvantageous for them.

So Aziraphale, Anathema and Newt had agreed to meet him in the morning at the entrance. Crowley had wanted to give Aziraphale a ride like Newt had eagerly wanted to get Anathema home. But Anathema and Aziraphale had claimed Aziraphale’s flat was on the way for Newt and had gotten in the nerd’s – surprisingly elegant – new car, leaving both Newt and Crowley confused and frustrated.

Crowley really wanted to sort things out with Aziraphale before getting killed by a Halloween spirit. Still he felt the urge to punch himself for acting so rushed. Sure, the sex had been amazing. He had wanted to take Aziraphale on that desk for ages, just never got the chance. But they didn’t get to talk afterwards thanks to Arthur Hill. Crowley knew Aziraphale well and it was clear as day that his angel was confused and scared and hurt. Crowley desperately wanted to fix that. But they had not been alone for even a second after their encounter in Crowley’s office.

Crowley had to survive this and make sure Aziraphale did, too (and if possible Anathema and Newt). He could not allow the chance he still saw to be destroyed by anything, supernatural or not. For the fifth time he patted against his leather jacket, making sure the stake was still in the inside pocket. Of course he could not know if the thing would help, but it was better than nothing.

It was around 8:30 when he heard footsteps from the parking lot. Turning around, he spotted his fellow ghost hunters minus Agnes Nutter.

“Agnes is still weakened from her vision last night,” Anathema answered, once again before Crowley could ask (he hated that). “We’ll have to do this without her.”

“Too bad,” Crowley said. “We could have used the help of a witch. I mean, she is a witch, right?”

“She prefers the term ‘occultist’”, Anathema said and walked past Crowley into the building.

In the lobby they encountered a very annoyed Gabriel with his phone in his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Johnson, I understand!” Gabriel bellowed. “I understand because I am busy, too! Everyone is and I really need you to… Yes, yes, you do that! As soon as possible.”

Gabriel ended the call and nervously ran a hand through his usually so perfect but now messy hair.

“Hey, Gabe,” Crowley greeted him. “Problems?”

“Crowley, hello,” Gabriel sighed, pinching his nose bridge. “Yes, you can say that. This morning I came in early and guess what I see? All the construction workers, every single one of them, walk past me and their foreman tells me, they all are sick. Says they had just started working as they felt nauseous. He suspects the pizzeria they all ate in last night.”

“All of them?”

“All of them! I called the construction company of course, but they cannot send enough men to fill in. That will delay the works, yet again. I swear, sometimes I’m so close to believing in the curse. Anyway, I have an appointment in an hour. Hopefully I can find a solution later. See you later.” Before Gabriel walked out, he nodded towards the others as a greeting. “Aziraphale, Anathema, Newton.”

“Yeah, bye,” Crowley called after him. When Gabriel was out of hearing range, Crowley turned to the others, “We agree that these pizza dudes are innocent, don’t we?”

“Pretty sure yes,” Anathema said and started roaming through her bag. She handed each man a little herb satchels and explained, “Powder made from dried spring flowers. I don’t think it will harm Ghan’lach but maybe protect us from his tricks.”

“Like stomach curses?” Newt said, turning the satchel in his hand.

“Like stomach curses,” Anathema nodded and gave him an encouraging smile. “Come on! We got this.”

They argued whether or not to take the elevator to the 12th or completely forgo it, but in the end agreed that they did not want to take on a dead demon-druid after walking so many stairs.

Without any incidents they arrived at the fire door to floor 13. After once again exchanging nervous looks, they nodded at each other and entered.

Crowley immediately felt strange. At least he experienced no physical pain or nausea like the poor workers apparently had, but it was harder to breathe here. Underneath the rustling of the foil and the usual noises of the building, lay strange sounds that he could not locate or identify. Every now and again, he saw movement in the corner of his eye, only to find nothing when he turned towards it. Looking in the faces of his comrades, he saw that they must feel similar.

Sighing, Crowley turned his head in all directions and said, “I suppose we still don’t know what exactly we are looking for. Ang…, Aziraphale, why don’t you use that crystal thingy? Let’s see where it shines brightest to make out where our pal is hiding?”

“Good idea,” Crowley heard Anathema say and then a rustling, probably Aziraphale fishing out the crystal.

Aziraphale gasped in shock and Crowley swung around to see what was wrong. In Aziraphale’s hand was the blue crystal, shining as bright as a car’s headlight, pulsating at an enormous frequency and Crowley had to look away so as to not go blind or have a seizure.

“I don’t think”, Aziraphale said sardonically, “this will help narrow it down.”


	6. Chapter 6

“I don’t think”, Aziraphale said sardonically, “this will help narrow it down.”

“Put it away,” Anathema said. “If we are all blinded, we are more vulnerable. It won’t help us much anyway.”

Newt pulled a phone out of his jacket.

“I downloaded a ghostfinding app yesterday,” he said with a proud smile. “Maybe we can use it.”

“I don’t think…” Anathema began, but Crowley pushed himself between her and Newt.

“Wow, is that the new Darkberry?” he asked, like an excited child on Christmas day. “I was thinking of getting it myself, but then I saw that Magma advertised a new one and that looked…”

He stopped himself as he stared into the less than impressed faces of Aziraphale and Anathema.

“Priorities? Maybe?” Aziraphale sighed.

“Right. Yes. Ghosthunting,” Crowley said sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Alright,” Anathema said. “Newt, this is a... erm… an interesting idea, but those apps are humbug, so…”

“Okay,” Newt said, a little crestfallen, and put his new phone away.

“It was a good idea,” Aziraphale said, feeling sorry for Newt. “I mean, how would we know how ghosts work right? Only Anathema has that much insight.”

Newt gave him a weak smile and nodded. “What now?” he asked then.

“We will NOT split up!” Crowley said. “I’m not an idiot – don’t say anything now, Device – and I know what happens if we split up. We’ll stay together and check all the rooms systematically, agreed?”

“Agreed,” answered the others.

A low rumbling sound echoed through the corridor. The temperature dropped and it became notably darker.

“I disagree,” spoke a sinister and hollow voice. It filled the whole hallway and was impossible to locate. “I do not like strangers, snooping around my property.”

Aziraphale was frozen in place. This voice. He knew it. It was now speaking actual words instead of just screeching. But this was the voice of the thing that had attacked him. And it was not the voice of Arthur Hill.

“That’s him,” he gasped out. “The ghost in the conference room.”

Crowley stepped closer to Aziraphale. It was obvious that he wanted to protect him, but without a visible foe, he could not position himself between Aziraphale and a threat. Not that Aziraphale would have wanted Crowley to put himself in danger for Aziraphale. He would indeed prefer for it to be the other way around.

“The stakes!” Anathema ordered and a second later held hers in her right hand. In the other she held her white crystal.

“What good are they if we can’t see him?” Crowley asked, but – like Newt and Aziraphale – armed himself as well.

In addition Aziraphale followed Anathema’s example and fished out his white crystal as well, hoping it would in fact ward off evil.

“I have the feeling, he won’t stay hidden forever.”

Unfortunately Anathema was right, even though she probably had not expected the exact nature of the attack. The dark rumble that filled the corridor increased, not only did it become louder but also closer. Like a wall of sound closing in on them. Then it ceased and they stood in silence. But there was an eerie feeling to that silence. It was like a thick, constricting dome of stillness that just swallowed and suffocated all noise. Aziraphale did not speak, but he was not sure if he could have, if he had wanted to.

Then, as if someone had pinched a bubble with a needle, the unnatural silence disappeared as a sudden rush of wind ran through the corridor and a dark cloud of smoke appeared down the corridor. Slowly its wavering mass took form. At first it looked as Aziraphale remembered it: the caricature of a human head, strange arm-like appendages and a formless lower body. But with the passing seconds this changed. Still it would be far-fetched to say it looked like a person. After a while however, the features of its face were more carved out, reminding vaguely of a sharp male face. And it… smiled.

After a wave of what seemed to be its hand, it disappeared.

The next moment it was everywhere. Or better: smaller, again less human, versions of it filled the whole corridor. Dozens of dark grey ghostly figures surrounded the humans.

Anathema, Aziraphale, Crowley and Newt barely had time to position each other back to back before the creatures rushed towards them. In the corner of his eye Aziraphale saw Anathema lift her white crystal above her head and he did the same.

A high ringing sound emanated from the two crystals and soon a thin white veil formed around the humans. As the first dark forms rushed against the shielding force, they immediately dissolved into black fog and disappeared. The others slowed down, hovering in the air, floating around the group of humans under the shield.

A chuckle echoed through the hallway.

“I see you did not come unprepared. Impressive,” the bodiless voice spoke again. “And I admit a few days ago, this might have been a problem. So close to Samhain however…”

Before the humans could process it, the levitating dark figures pattered down on the shield like hail. With each hit, the white veil quivered and wavered and Aziraphale could watch it weaken. It did not take long for it to collapse.

The remaining creatures did not give their opponents time to breathe. At once they descended on their prey, attacking fast and without hesitation.

Aziraphale did not know what it was. But as if of one mind, he and his friends raised their arms and swung their stakes at the attackers.

And it worked.

Even though the stakes went through the forms of the ghostly creatures as it would through smoke or fog, it visibly hurt them. Some made a hissing noise and retreated, others dissolved at once.

“Oh, how interesting,” the voice said, amused, a bit condescending even.

They did their best to ignore Ghan’lach, focusing on the onslaught of bodiless attackers. Aziraphale did not know where the speed and strength he fought with came from, but he was not going to question what currently kept him alive.

Then the things were gone. Not floating away or dissolving, just no longer there from one second to the next.

“Not just any stakes then,” the voice spoke. “Good thinking, little witch. Like water against fire,” a hollow chuckle, “like a thimble of water against a forest fire to be precise. But alright, I have some time to kill. Let’s play.”

A strong rush of cold wind ran through the hallway, carrying a foul odour. Darkness filled the area and even though Aziraphale still felt Crowley’s arm against his shoulder, he could no longer see him or any of his friends. The wind as well as the smell became stronger, making Aziraphale’s knees buckle. He felt dizzy and his limbs stopped obeying. The stake slid from his hand and he fell forward. Bracing himself on shaking arms, he heard the voice again. Closer this time.

“I remember you,” it said. “I saw you a few days ago near the dead machine. I just wanted some information from that smart head of yours, about the world. It must have changed. What year is it? 2000? 2010? My last informations are decades old.”

Aziraphale did not know whether or not, Ghan’lach expected an answer, but for one, he found it hard to speak at the moment and for two, an evil dead druid was not his favourite conversational partner.

He felt how Ghan’lach tried to invade his head, to read his thoughts.

No! What was in Aziraphale’s mind and heart was his alone. Nobody else, living or dead had a right to know. Joy, pain, laughter, tears – Aziraphale was not special, but his life was his own and he would decide what and with whom to share. And so he pushed back against the intrusion. Again and again and again.

A noise that might have been an appreciative hum sounded next to Aziraphale’s ear.

“Impressive,” Ghan’lach said. “Fine. Be like that. I’ll get the needed information from my new host then. But I’ll come back to you at full power soon. Until then, you might be of… indirect use.”

*

All at once it was dark around him. The sudden powerful wind knocked Crowley of his feet and the stake out of his hand. A cry of surprise escaped him, followed by a groan of pain. Crowley got to his hands and knees and frantically fumbled around in the pitch blackness of his surroundings to get a hold of Aziraphale, but he could not find him. He found nobody. Which was impossible. He had stood right next to the others, shoulder to shoulder. At least one of them he should be able to find, blind or not.

It was silent as well. Which was weird. They had been attacked by some sort of magical stinking wind. And yet his own voice, yelling out his shock, was the only one he had heard. Why could he not hear the others?

“Ah, yes,” the eerie voice sounded again. “You are no longer in the corridor. Well, bodily you are, I just had to borrow your mind for a moment.”

The darkness suddenly faded away, revealing an empty grey space, still gloomy, but at least Crowley could now see.

Crowley got to his feet – or what appeared like his feet even though according to Ghan’lach his feet were somewhere else at the moment. Or was he somewhere else? How could he be somewhere else than himself?

“I know, I know, confusing for the mortal mind,” Ghanlach spoke and chuckled. “Fortunately you are much easier to read than the blond fellow you are so fond of. Stubborn little thing, isn’t he?”

“If you hurt him…”

“I’ll keep him safe,” Ghan’lach said with a chuckle. “Too interesting to kill. Question is, will I keep him or will you keep him?”

“What?”

“Look, Anthony.” Ghan’lach’s voice changed. It became softer, more human, pleasant even. “The world has changed since I last truly walked it. And I have plans for it. Plans I could use the help of a powerful and wealthy man for. Together, we could achieve many great things.”

“Like what?” Crowley asked, confused.

“Anything!” Ghan’lach said. “I will have a human body soon and I will be free and mighty. The man whose body will be mine already is connected to the company you own. Help him, well, _me_ then, to take an influential place there. Power, wealth and magic will make for a great combination.”

“Why would I do this?” Crowley scoffed. “That’s the opposite of why I’m here.”

“I will win anyway,” Ghan’lach stated casually. “Why not make life better and safer for yourself and those you love by making things easier for me.”

Crowley remained silent, not knowing what to answer. After a while Ghan’lach sighed.

“Your sweet little Aziraphale, for example,” he said. “He should be yours again, shouldn’t he?”

All of a sudden Crowley’s mind became foggy. His thoughts were there, but jumbled and it was like whenever he tried catching one, it slipped away.

He wanted to answer: _“I love him and I wish I got him back, but I have to earn it. It’s his decision.”_

“Yes, he should,” he found himself saying instead and it rang astonishingly true to him. “He’s mine.”

“Exactly,” Ghan’lach said, full of understanding and comradery. “Men like you, handsome, charming, funny, rich and powerful, shouldn’t have to wait for little writers to come to terms with their oh so precious feelings.”

Ghan’lach was right. Crowley hated waiting. He loved Aziraphale and it was clear as day that Aziraphale loved him. Why did Aziraphale make him wait?

“I don’t want to wait,” Crowley pressed out between gritted teeth.

“And you shouldn’t! Aziraphale should be grateful that you fancy him,” Ghan’lach said. “And he will be.”

“How?”

“The woman who is with you, Anathema, is working her magic. Soon she’ll bring you back to reality,” Ghanlach explained. “As soon as you are there, you’ll make sure she causes no trouble to me. She is even more stubborn than your lover. At midnight, I will get my full power and my new body. Then you and I take on this world together. And I make sure, Aziraphale obeys you. No more waiting, no more discussions about how you spent your time together, no more activities which bore you, no more sassy backtalk, just a pliant lover who knows his place.”

Crowley swallowed as Ghan’lach had finished and asked, “He’ll do anything I say?”

“Anything,” Ghan’lach said with an audible smile. “You go back and keep the witch in check. Your reward is a place in my inner circle and an obedient Aziraphale. Understood?”

“Understood!” Crowley nodded and again the feeling of vertigo overcame him as his soul was dragged back into his body.

*

Aziraphale did not know how long – after Ghan’lach had fallen silent – he had been in this place or what exactly this place was. Because he doubted he was still in the hallway of floor 13. The lack of sound was one indicator, but after losing sight of and grasp on his friends, Aziraphale had started crawling through the darkness to find a door or at least a wall.

But the empty space was endless. It could not be a normal place. Whatever Ghan’lach had done, he had somehow brought Aziraphale out of the world. At least the normal world.

Worst was that without Ghan’lach Aziraphale had no idea how to get back and Ghan’lach had not been heard since Aziraphale had successfully managed to keep him out of his thoughts. Would he have to stay here forever?

Before Aziraphale could dwell on the unpleasant thought, he felt something pull and drag on his very being. He made a surprised noise but did not try to fight the foreign force. Whatever it was, it did not feel like Ghan’lach had and it wanted to bring him away from here, and he very much welcomed this.

A second later he found himself, gasping for air, on the ground of the 13th floor. Like Newt and Crowley who were lying next to him, he groaned and sat up. Anathema was kneeling between them, looking exhausted but relieved.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed out. “I did not know he could do this. Luckily Agnes taught me a counter ritual a while ago. I got you out… erm… in, well back to your bodies. Are you guys alright?”

Aziraphale nodded weakly, even though he was still counting his limbs.

“I’m fine,” he said, smiling at her. “Crowley? Newt?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, just fine – well, all things considered,” Crowley said, stretching his legs and carefully getting to his feet.

“I’m okay as well,” Newt said. “Let’s not do that again though.”

“Oh, he shouldn’t be able to do that again now,” Anathema hurried to assure. “At least for a few days you should be protected against magic like that.”

“Good,” Aziraphale said and with a grateful smile took the hand Crowley offered.

Crowley pulled Aziraphale to his feet before gently putting his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“You okay?” Crowley asked. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?”

“What? No! Did he hurt _you_?”

“Nope, all good,” Crowley said and added with a wink, “More of a talker, that guy.”

Anathema cleared her throat.

“Yes, I’m glad you’re all fine, but we lost a lot of time and…”

“How long were we out?” Crowley interrupted.

With a sigh Anathema looked at her phone.

“About five hours,” she announced.

“What?” the three men asked unisono.

“You poor thing!” Aziraphale exclaimed. “You were doing… erm… whatever you were doing for five hours?”

“No, about two hours passed while I was in Ghan’lach’s grasp myself,” Anathema explained. “The rest of the time I spend reciting the spell.”

All three men cast Anathema an admiring look, visibly making her uncomfortable. A little flustered, she ran through her dishevelled locks and shrugged, "No big deal. Couldn't let him steal your souls, could I?"

"Thanks, Device," Crowley said, visibly impressed. "And respect!"

"You're welcome and thank you," she answered, blushing.

Despite the time sensitive matter a hand a moment of silence followed, finally broken by Newt.

“What now?” he asked. “Should we leave? Our weapons aren’t strong enough. Maybe we…”

“No!” Anathema said resolutely. “I won't give up. We still have time.”

“So, what’s the plan?” Crowley asked.

“We need to find a place where I can contact the spirit of Arthur Hill, maybe he can…”

“I am hurt, Miss Device,” thundered Ghan’lach’s voice. “You refused to talk to me, but want to talk to Arthur Hill? He is a terrible bore.”

They all turned their heads towards the conference room. In the doorframe hovered the dark figure again. The formerly hollow eye sockets were filled with bright green eyes, staring at them, but the voice seemed to be everywhere again.

“It ends now,” it spoke.

With an unearthly cry of rage, the creature rushed forward, towards Anathema.

The familiar light of the construction lamps filled the hallway and Aziraphale felt a warm presence nearby.

The ghost slowed down and made an annoyed noise.

“Your tricks no longer work, Bob,” he growled. “I am much more pow… what? What have you done? I… argh… You will regret this!”

The shadow shape started to deform into a whirling mass of black smoke and fled into the wall.

“Really hates light, this one,” a friendly voice sounded from behind Aziraphale. Turning around, he looked into the smiling face of Bob Barmer. “Had to take your crystal thingies though. And I fear they are lost now.”

Both Aziraphale and Anathema patted their pockets and found the crystal which warded off evil gone.

“Good thinking, Mr. Bar…” Anathema said.

“Just Bob,” Bob said with a smile, pointing at his name tag.

“Bob,” she smiled back. “Your… erm… light magic combined with the crystal was strong enough where they would not have been alone. It buys us some time. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Miss,” Bob said. “Tis not that I’m a fan of Ghan’lach.”

“Did he…” Aziraphale swallowed, scared to be insensitive, but too curious not to ask. “…kill you?”

Bob laughed and shook his head.

“Nah, mate, that would be good ol’ Arthur!” he answered.

“Hill?” Aziraphale asked. And he had just started believing Arthur Hill might have been innocent.

“That one, yeah.” Bob nodded and shrugged. “But don’t be too hard on him. Just wanted to scare me away. Was afraid I’d break something important, I think. Couldn’t know I had a heart condition.”

Aziraphale and Anathema looked at each other and simultaneously said, “A man weak of heart!”

“Hey,” Bob said, a bit offended.

“No, I mean, sorry,” Anathema said. “My aunt, she had a vision about four stones and one was accidentally destroyed by ‘a man weak of heart’. Can you remember a stone?”

“Erm, lady, I was making a hole into the bathroom floor,” Bob said. “Broke a lot of stones! Maybe you should talk to _him_.”

Bob pointed down the hallway. All heads turned. At the end of the corridor stood the ghost of Arthur Hill stared at them. He gestured them to come closer.

Insecure, the humans looked at each other. Arthur Hill had not hurt them so far, but had killed Bob (though accidentally) and had not exactly been a friendly fellow.

“Go on,” Bob said. “Time’s running out. He’s harmless. Well, unless you break his stuff and have a heart condition.”

Hesitantly they walked towards the haggard figure. Hill looked more human here; full body, normal colours, no floating around and no shimmering. But getting closer, Aziraphale saw that his form was not solid.

When they stood in front of him, Arthur pointed at the office behind him.

“The answers are in there,” he said with a hoarse voice. He pointed at the door and it opened.

After the exchange of nervous glances, the four humans took each other’s hand and entered the empty office room. But as soon as the door had fallen shut behind them, it was no longer empty.


	7. Chapter 7

When the door slammed shut behind them, Crowley felt a shift in the atmosphere. The cold that had surrounded them since Ghan’lach’s first appearance vanished and the stale light of a gloomy autumn day was replaced by a warm orange glow.

Surprised Crowley looked for the new light source and his eyes widened as he spotted it in the corner in the form of an old-fashioned fireplace. It was completely out of place, here in the bare office room with the foiled walls, painter’s fleece on the ground and the construction site lamp in the corner.

But bit by bit the room was filled with furniture and decoration going just fine with a fireplace. An extravagant desk of dark wood appeared at the window, together with a matching chair. A heavy bookshelf materialized next to it as well as a small bar. The ground was suddenly covered by a brocade carpet that for Crowley’s taste was really ugly, nevertheless probably expensive. 

Like Crowley himself, Aziraphale, Anathema and Newt stared with big eyes and open mouths at the study that within seconds had formed around them. Aziraphale, curious as ever, stepped towards the window.

“Look at that,” he said and they all huddled together to peek out of the window. This was their city, but it was not. The building they were in was one of the highest, even though it should be surrounded by several of the same or even more height. Nothing looked familiar except for the café at the corner. But it had been there since Crowley moved here and still there was a sign saying “Grand Opening”. The people bustling about wore out-fashioned attire and some of the cars were no longer sold to Crowley’s knowledge.

“Is this… real?” Aziraphale asked the same question which was dancing in Crowley’s mind.

Crowley squinted. Looking closer, he saw that the image was fuzzy, the colours blurring into each other, the people were repeating the same movements and actions in a frequency of a few seconds.

“I don’t think so, angel,” he said. “It seems to be so… vague. Not exactly unreal, but uncertain, like…”

“…a memory,” Anathema finished. 

An angry mumbling had them all turn around. Behind them Arthur Hill was pacing around. His body was human now, thin as a rake and bowed by age, but still spry. 

“It has to… no, it was… maybe Jon… or Connor?” he murmured. “Judy? Where is she? Oh. Gone. Right. But…”

Anathema, Aziraphale, Crowley and Newt stood awkwardly behind the desk while Hill kept walking up and down the room. 

After a while Aziraphale lifted his hand and waved.

“Erm, Mr. Hill?” he asked, very polite, very sweet, very Aziraphale. “Would you… mind telling us why you brought us here? We are in a hurry and should get a bit of a wiggle-on.”

At first Crowley was not sure Hill had heard Aziraphale, but then he stopped and turned his head to face the group of people in his study. 

His expression was completely different from the one on the book cover or during their encounter in Crowley’s office. He looked vulnerable, nervous, desperate even. His mouth was quivering and his voice shaking.

“I… wanted to tell you,” he said. “About…”

“Ghan’lach?”

“Yes!” For a moment Hill’s face lit up, but then he frowned again. “My thoughts… are in disarray. He does this to me, sometimes to be cruel, sometimes to keep me from talking to people, to keep me from warning them.”

“Anathema,” Aziraphale said. “Can you somehow counter what Ghan’lach did to him?”

“I… don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head with a regretful expression. “It was hard to undo what he did to you guys and you’re human. A ghost’s mind… I wouldn’t know how to do it.”

“Okay. Mr. Hill?” Crowley said. “What _do_ you remember?”

Arthur Hill furrowed his brows and looked around.

“It started here I think,” he said. “My study.”

“What started here?” Crowley asked.

“It started here, that’s why I brought you here.” Arthur ignored Crowley, caught up in his own thought process. After a while, he snapped his fingers. “There was a book.”

“A book? Good! What kind of book?”

“It was empty! Well, so I thought… I…” Hill’s look became distant again and Crowley feared to lose him.

“Arthur? What was with the book?”

“I… I…I wrote it all down!” Hill suddenly exclaimed. “I always had a diary. I hardly used it, but I wrote so much about the book! Where is my diary?”

Frantically he rushed through the room and skimmed each row in the shelf. Then he pushed Anathema aside to roam through the drawers of his desk and even crawled underneath it.

Crowley let his eyes wander and spotted a small leather-bound book on the mantelpiece of the fireplace.

“That one?” he asked, pointing towards it.

Hill followed Crowley’s finger and his eyes widened.

“Yes!” he exclaimed. He hurried over to the fireplace and took the diary with shaking hands and handed it to Anathema. “Take it. You need to… Oh no! We have to go. Time is running out.”

“Go? But…”

Arthur Hill’s figure became transparent, slowly lost its colour and finally disappeared. With him gone, the cosy study ceased to be, the homely pieces of furnishing one after another fading away, leaving Crowley and his company in the cold and empty office room.

“Not exactly an improvement,” Aziraphale sighed. “At least we have the diary.”

“More or less,” Anathema said.

Everybody turned to her. Instead of the well-kept book, encased in dark brown leather, there was a bunch of burned paper in her hand, poorly held together by the ashy remains of the binding.

“Well, there _was_ a fire in the 1960s,” Newt said unhelpfully.

“Yeah,” Anathema said after an exasperated breath. “Arthur could give us the diary’s past version in his memory, but we could not take it out of there so now we have… this.”

“The current version,” Crowley said. “The current burnt ver… say, was it that dark before?”

They all turned to the window and saw that night had fallen upon the city. Cursing under his breath, Crowley got out his phone and turned on the screen.

It read: Oct 30, 21:13

Again the hours had passed differently outside the real world. There was not much time left. He had to deal with Anathema. Soon.

*

“Okay! Don’t panic!” Aziraphale said, having trouble taking his own advice. “That’s almost three hours to midnight. Let’s see what is left of the diary and if we find something to help us with…” he wildly gestured around. “…this whole situation.”

Crowley met Aziraphale’s gaze with an inscrutable expression, but then he nodded slowly.

“Best shot we got,” he said and chuckled, “After you, Aziraphale. You’re good with puzzles.” He pointed at the scraps of paper that were raining out of the destroyed leather-binding.

Sighing, Aziraphale went to work. He shooed the others away, sure they would only be in each other’s way if they all tried to put something together. 

To his relief, Aziraphale found more intact pieces than he had initially thought. Tongue between his lips and deep in concentration, he tried putting them together. Several times a phone dinged behind him. He did not turn around to glower at the culprit, but cleared his throat very loudly after the fifth sound. He needed to focus here.

After a while, he could proudly present a collection of tiny texts that might be helpful.

_…admit that I felt a surge of disappointment as the book is so plain – and empty save for the runes on the first and the last page. But after studying the runes, I am sure it is real. Not that Harvey’s word is not good enough for me, but…_

_…fter I placed it on the showcase, I sat down on the chair nearby and started reading about Celtic rituals and druidic artefacts. Suddenly the room went cold! Ice cold! In addition I felt watched and thought I heard a faint whisper. What could this be?_ _A_ _m I losing my mind?_

_Now in the light of morning I feel rather silly and embarrassed at my panic last night. Fortunately the personnel had already left and nobody witnessed my silliness. I probably caught a cold which made me feel chilly and the “whisper” I heard was_ _only_ _the rustling of paper due to a draft. Old buildings and occult objects – enough to make the imagination of an old man run wild. Nevertheless I should…_

_…cently everything breaks! Well, not everything. But a lot of things_ _in_ _my study and my bedroom. Which are the rooms next to the showcase room. The showcase room itself makes me feel strange lately. Again I heard a whisper this morning. And it cannot have been the wind from an open window. The trees outside did not move at all. I just cannot…_

_…think Judy hears it, too! She won’t say, of course, and I don’t blame her. Jon, Connor and admittedly myself have been teasing her about her superstition, especially around the occult objects more than once. So if the poor thing hears ghostly whispering, she would not tell us. But I can see how weary she has become, very reluctant to go into the showcase room for cleaning. She is also in a hurry to leave. In the rest of my apartment, her work is impeccable as always, but she is sloppy with the displays. I should ask her directly tomorrow. Jon asked for a free afternoon to go out with his girl and Connor left to visit his family for a few days. Without them around, she maybe will…_

_Tonight the book was open! It opened by itself in a locked showcase! When I looked at it, I thought for a second there were words on the page, but when I got closer to check, it was as empty as before. Maybe the servants are playing pranks? Did Jon snatch my key and put it back without me noticing? That must be it. Books do not open by themselves, do they?_

_I will carry the key around my neck now. The book was closed this morning, even though I did not touch it!_

_Judy is dead! Jon found her in the showcase room with a broken neck. She fell from a ladder when she cleaned the large cupboard. The police were already here and ruled it as an accident, but I am not so sure. Her eyes. She looked so scared. Maybe something startled her and that was why she fell? Like a noise or a moving book?_

_Words! Real words! On the pages, but only between midnight and sunrise. With the first light of day they disappear. I cannot understand them. Celtic, maybe?_

_The book is learning my language. I talked to myself while trying to understand it and more and more words are English now._

_I can talk to the book! Have real conversations. Should I tell someone? They would not believe me and if I showed them, they might steal it…_

_It sounds strange, but the book is my first conversational partner about the occult. The rich people who usually take interest in topics like that never accepted me as one of their own due to my background and those who do talk to me take no interest in_ _topics like that_ _. The book does not care who I am_ _and I get to choose what we talk about._

_The book knows things! Many things! It says I only have to alter the runes and it can teach me all about magic. It will give me instructions tomorrow night. The things I could learn._

_Can a book be impatient? This one sure is. Wants to get it done by Halloween. I wonder why. Maybe it is not a good idea after all? But the opportunities…_

_I should have listened to my instincts! He lied! The spirit in the book! The runes kept him there and me changing them freed him. Ghan’lach! I read about him once. If I am not mistaken, he is strongest on Halloween. He thinks I’m a foolish old man and I suppose he is right. But I will not give him my body. I have a few hours left until sunset and will make the most of them. I’m no occult expert, but I know a few tricks. If he does not have a body on November 1, he will be extremely weakened, a ghost! And I can handle ghosts, I hope. Maybe those rune stones I bought in New Orleans? I should…_

_… did it! I hid the stones in the walls and denied him my body. The stones keep him in here, but he knows now! The stones weaken him_ _. Than_ _ks to Halloween_ _however, he_ _is strong enough_ _to kill me_ _and I’m sure that’s what he is about to do_ _. I cannot hide from him until midnight. I already hear him, raging in the corridor…_

They all were pressed against each other, reading the texts in the light of their phones.

“So Ghan’lach _does_ want a body,” Anathema said. “Arthur freed him, but left him bodiless which weakened him. And the stones from Agnes’s vision were runestones Arthur used to build some sort of ghost trap.” With a sad expression, she added, “But I think it was not a trap specifically designed for Ghan’lach, just for all ghosts.”

“That’s why Hill and Bob are still here?” Aziraphale asked.

“Them and who knows how many others who can’t or won’t manifest,” Anathema nodded. “Nobody who dies here, can leave.”

“Those poor souls.” Aziraphale shuddered. Being killed by a ghost was bad enough, but then being trapped with him after death must be Hell.

“Yes, but our priority is stopping Ghan’lach,” Anathema said. “If we can do that, we can still look for a way to help them after Samhain.”

“Well, I guess those few hours won’t make that much of a difference for them,” Crowley shrugged. “So what about those runestones?”

Aziraphale recited: “One man, weak of heart, destroyed the first stone without knowing. One man, blinded by emotions, stole the second for a false promise. One man, strong and loyal, felled the third for he was told to by the ignorant. And the fourth stone will fall in the longest of nights to Ghan’lach.”

“The first one refers to Bob, I’m sure,” Anathema said. “The third probably to another construction worker who recently destroyed a runestone while he worked - neither he nor Gabriel who hired the company knew all about this.”

“Number two means whoever made a deal with Ghan’lach,” Aziraphale said. “They stole or destroyed another runestone.”

“Probably Sandal,” Crowley nodded. “Why else was he here twice if there is a whole of 15 other floors to snoop around?”

“Makes sense,” Anathema agreed. “Number four is pretty self-explanatory. But it says ‘will be destroyed’ which means…”

“…it is still intact,” Aziraphale said.

“Exactly!” Anathema smiled. “If we can find and protect it…”

“Would a single stone do any good?”

“I… can’t be sure,” Anathema admitted. “But if the barrier depended on each stone being intact, it would have collapsed years ago when Bob broke the first. So if it is the kind of stone I am thinking it is, you need four to build the barrier, but once it is formed, in theory a single intact stone can keep it up – even though the captured ghosts might get a little more… freedom with each missing rune.” 

“Like no longer being confined to one floor or attack people?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, like that. But the stones or in this case the stone could even be moved as long as it remains within the barrier.” Anathema looked a bit worried. “At least I think so. But it’s my only idea. Protect the last stone and hope that even on Halloween it will be enough to keep Ghan’lach confined. If we can keep him here until dawn, Agnes and I can renew the protection, maybe improve it.”

“And help Bob, Arthur and the others who are trapped here?” Aziraphale asked.

“I’m sure Agnes has an idea,” Anathema smiled.

“How do we find this last stone?” Newt wanted to know. “We are running out of time. It’s almost eleven. Maybe we should just…”

“They would have to be placed in a certain pattern to form the barrier,” Anathema interrupted. “I assume Arthur Hill did not know he could move them when this is done. Not that he would have had the chance.”

“So if we can find the locations of one or better two stones, we should have an idea where to look for the others,” Aziraphale said. “We know Bob died in the men’s bathroom, if we knew where exactly he was working...”

“I can show you the spot.” 

Bob suddenly stood in the door and waved. Awkwardly everybody waved back.

Then Bob put his hands in his pockets and started whistling while walking down the corridor towards the bathrooms.

“You coming?” he asked over his shoulder as the group of humans watched him, hesitating.

But then they looked at each other and shrugged. They could not be picky and had to start somewhere.

In the lavatory Bob led them to the row of sinks and pointed under the second to last.

“I was working there,” he said. “Suddenly Arthur appeared and gave me a heart attack. I remember that my hammer fell down the hole. My boys later replaced the pipe I was supposed to replace and renewed the floor and tiles.” He shuddered. “Sorry, friends, I don’t like this place too much. Imma head out.”

With that he was gone before they could thank him.

“Alright!” Anathema pulled out her phone and her fingers flew over the display.

Glancing over her shoulder, Aziraphale saw that she had found blueprints of the building online and was now adding a red dot to the image at the spot Bob had showed them.

“Of course we don’t know the layout of Arthur Hill’s apartment back then,” she said. “Let’s hope everything is still approachable. Let’s go.”

Crowley opened the door and with a gallant bow gestured Aziraphale to go first. With a shy smile Aziraphale thanked him and stepped into the corridor. Bob’s lights were still on, but they were flickering and overall seemed weaker. They had to hurry. 

Suddenly Aziraphale heard a commotion behind him and turned to the bathroom door. 

Crowley had grabbed Anathema’s shoulders and pulled her back. He spun her around and pushed her towards the confused Newt, sending both Anathema and Newt against a bathroom stall. Before Aziraphale could even begin to understand what was going on, Crowley rushed out of the men’s room and slammed the door shut. Ignoring Aziraphale’s confused “Crowley?”, he kicked over one of the light stands and pushed it under the door handle, effectively blocking the door.

“Crowley! What the Hell are you doing?” Aziraphale yelled and hurried to remove the stand and free Anathema and Newt.

But before Aziraphale managed to unblock the door, Crowley roughly grabbed his wrists and pulled him away from the bathroom.

“What has gotten into you?” Aziraphale screamed and demanded, “Let me go! At once!”

Easily Crowley dragged the squirming Aziraphale along the hallway. Once more Aziraphale was surprised by the strength hidden in Crowley’s lanky body. But this time Aziraphale did not feel like swooning over it.

Crowley had locked Anathema in a men’s lavatory! Not only was she the only hope they had to beat Ghan’lach, she was also Aziraphale’s friend. Oh, and he liked Newt well enough, too.

“What is this all about, Crowley?” Aziraphale kept asking, but Crowley ignored his questions.

Silent and purposeful, he just kept walking away from the bathroom. He went for the fire door and forced Aziraphale out onto the staircase. They almost stumbled down the stairs with Crowley pulling in one direction, Aziraphale in the other. But Crowley managed to get them to the 12th floor, Aziraphale still trying to get out of his hold.

With an annoyed snarl, Crowley pushed Aziraphale against a wall. He pinned Aziraphale between the cold dark marble and his slender form. In one smooth move Crowley put one hand against the wall to brace himself, while the other covered Aziraphale’s mouth.

Crowley brought their faces together. Their noses brushed. Crowley’s amber eyes seemed to glow in the darkness as he stared deeply into Aziraphale’s.

Pressing his body against Aziraphale, Crowley hissed, “You’ll listen now, angel. And listen carefully!”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

“You’ll listen now, angel. And listen carefully.”

After a second of stunned silence, Aziraphale bit in Crowley’s palm. With a hiss of pain and a curse, Crowley removed his hand, shaking it.

“The Hell, Aziraphale?”

“Really?” Aziraphale asked. “You complain about a little bite after locking Anathema and Newt in a loo and manhandling me down the stairs?”

“Well, Ghan’lach wanted me to and…” Crowley said and Aziraphale saw red.

He lifted his right foot and let it crash down on Crowley’s left. Crying out, Crowley loosened his grip and Aziraphale managed to push him away.

“Ghan’lach wanted you to?” Aziraphale yelled. “And so you did it? Newsflash, Crowley: He is a very bad guy!”

Aziraphale ran for the stairs, but Crowley once again caught him and dragged him back. He slung his arms around Aziraphale and pressed Aziraphale’s body against his own.

“Angel, please…”

“Don’t you dare ‘angeling’ me, Crowley!” Aziraphale wriggled in Crowley’s hold, trying to get out of the embrace. “Because of you Anathema is up there all alone!”

“For one, she is with Newt… well, yeah, I admit that won’t do much,” Crowley said, still trying to subdue Aziraphale. “For two, it was _her_ idea!”

All movement ceased. Aziraphale stopped writhing and Crowley then loosened his hold. He put his hands on Aziraphale’s shoulders and turned him around. He gave Aziraphale an intense look.

“While you were busy with the diary pieces,” Crowley whispered, “I sent her a message that Ghan’lach wanted me to make sure she poses no problem to him. It was her idea to lock her somewhere where she can draw a protective circle and then deal with Ghan’lach. When Bob led us to the bathroom, I took my chance. And since she played along, I guess it’s fine.”

Aziraphale did not know how to react. On the one hand, he still felt like Crowley should not have endangered Anathema like that, on the other hand it was good to know Crowley was _not_ under an evil spirit's control.

“How is she planning to deal with him?” Aziraphale asked in a whisper.

“Erm, we only messaged via phone, hoping that Ghan’lach could not observe this,” Crowley admitted. “So we had to keep it short. But apparently she has some ritual crayon in her bag…”

“What else does she have in that bag?” Aziraphale asked, amazed.

“Not sure. To be honest I’m a bit scared of that thing,” Crowley laughed dryly. “Anyway, she wants to protect herself and Newt with a magic circle and from within that circle start using spells, rituals, charms, I’m not sure what exactly, against Ghan’lach.”

“A single young witch against a centuries old druid with the support of a demonic spirit, close to its peak of power?”

“It’s not her plan to win, but to distract him, so you and I can look for the last intact stone.”

“But what if he hurts her?”

“Aziraphale, I know you care about her, but if someone has a chance to hold their ground against Ghan’lach…”

“...it’s Anathema,” Aziraphale admitted with a sigh.

“Right.” Crowley gave him an encouraging smile. “I’m sure she will be fine. As for _our_ job,” he fished out his phone, “she sent me the blueprints. Here is the bathroom, here is the conference room the construction workers caught Sandal in, so we should start…”

“...actually I think, we should look there first.”

“In the conference room?” Crowley asked. “But according to Agnes the stone Sandal was after is already gone.”

“Yes, exactly. He took one, but when the workers caught him in the conference room, don’t you think they would have mentioned that they found a hole in the wall? Besides, his clothes were pretty clean. Had he actually started to break down a wall…”

“You’re right,” Crowley nodded.

“And it was at least his second visit to the 13th,” Aziraphale continued. “I bet he took one stone before and his last visit was the attempt to take another to gain even more of Ghan’lach’s favour.”

“Makes sense,” Crowley said. “Alright. We wait for Anathema’s message, then we go up there and sneak to the conference room. Sandal should show up sooner or later if he is to serve as Ghan’lach’s new body. Maybe he knows where exactly the stone is. Else it’s knocking on the walls to search for hollow spots for you and me.”

“Oh joy,” Aziraphale said. “Now we wait?”

“Now we wait.”

They stopped whispering to each other and just listened into the eerie silence of the building. Crowley kept his eyes on the stairs which probably was smart, considering that any threat would come from downstairs in the form of Sandal Byss or from upstairs in the form of Ghan’lach or other angry spirits.

But Aziraphale could not help staring at Crowley. He was entranced as the pale moon, falling through the small windows of the staircase, played a game of light and shadow on the sharp profile of his ex-boyfriend. Like a cat Crowley observed his surroundings, eyes like golden orbs, glowing in the dark.

They were so close. Probably unconsciously Crowley had manoeuvred Aziraphale against the wall again, his body between Aziraphale and the stairs, his right hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder, the left on Aziraphale’s waist.

Aziraphale swallowed. Their proximity and the position reminded him of their first more intimate encounter. They had been at a pub, for their fifth date, drunkenly stumbling outside and – giggling like teenagers – had ended up in a narrow alley close by.

_Hard Aziraphale’s back hit the cold wall, but it was a welcome coolness in the hot summer night, after the stuffy pub. Bumping his head of course would have been painful, but between it and the hard stone was a strong hand, protecting him._

_Flustered, Aziraphale looked up to meet Crowley’s beautiful eyes, heart skipping a beat at the boyish grin Crowley gave him._

_“Thank you,” Aziraphale whispered with a shy smile._

_“Most welcome, angel,” Crowley said in his velvet voice which did such funny things to Aziraphale’s body and soul._

_Aziraphale felt his face heat up when he became aware how close they were, breath mingling, noses brushing. While he had wanted to go slow, this was close to impossible with Crowley. Where Aziraphale treaded carefully and tried to anticipate all risks in life, Crowley threw himself into each situation, lived every moment to the fullest and followed his instincts, not his head. Aziraphale was drawn into that whirlwind. And he could not deny that he liked it._

_Now – with his back quite literally against the wall – under Crowley’s intense gaze, against Crowley’s warm body, in Crowley’s firm hold, Aziraphale found himself helpless against the urge to embrace this way of living fully._

_So when Crowley cupped Aziraphale’s cheek, smiled and bent down with a tilted head, Aziraphale did not stop him. On the contrary: He let his eyes flutter shut and stood on his toes to meet Crowley halfway._

_Again there was no time for hesitation with Crowley. As soon as their lips met, Crowley groaned and pulled Aziraphale closer in a possessive grip. Aziraphale sighed against Crowley’s mouth, melting into the tight embrace. When Crowley licked across Aziraphale’s bottom lip, Aziraphale did not think twice about obliging. He granted entrance immediately and was rewarded with a fierce passion he had not known before. Crowley kissed Aziraphale so filthy, yet so tender, held him so tightly, yet so loving. While their bodies pressed against each other with desperation, Crowley’s clever tongue conquered Aziraphale’s mouth, driving every rational thought from his head._

_When they finally parted, both were panting, their faces red and hot, but looking at each other with a dopey smile._

_Aziraphale usually would have called it a night at this point, saying goodbye with a last sweet kiss, and schedule any further exploration of their relationship to the next date._

_Crowley, however, was like a hound who had licked blood. His hold on Aziraphale did not loosen one bit and as soon as he had caught his breath, he bent down again, peppering little pecks at first on Aziraphale’s cheeks, then his chin. Purposefully Crowley kissed his way along Aziraphale’s jaw until he arrived at the sensitive earlobe. He chuckled when his nibbling there caused Aziraphale to shiver and moan but after a while carried on by licking a long wet stripe from Aziraphale’s ear down to his throat where he kept working with teeth and tongue._

_A tiny part of Aziraphale was of the opinion that they were being a bit too fast, were in an inappropriate place and were way too drunk. But the vast majority of Aziraphale’s parts were long gone, captured and wriggling in Crowley’s net._

_Aziraphale did not object when Crowley’s large warm hands found their way under his shirt, pushing it up to caress Aziraphale’s chest and stomach. He did not protest when his trousers were unbuttoned and long dexterous fingers went in to seek out his half-erect cock._

_And he did not hesitate to obey when Crowley husked into his ear, “Open my trousers, angel! I want your hands on me.”_

_With shaking fingers Aziraphale grabbed the buckle of Crowley’s belt and opened it before going for the button and the fly. In the meantime Crowley kept working on freeing Aziraphale’s manhood as well and soon they had revealed each other, both hard, hot and dripping already._

_Aziraphale eyed Crowley’s gorgeous cock for long seconds, then looked up at Crowley who stared back at him with widened pupils. In the next moment, they were engaged in another kiss. This time however, their hands were circled around each other’s erection while their lips were moving in a slow but passionate rhythm._

_Blissed out, Aziraphale enjoyed the warm, heavy weight in his hand, pumped it, slow at first but with increasing pace, and felt Crowley do the same to him. Together they moaned, bucked into each other’s hands, again and again, faster and faster._

_Crowley climaxed first. His grip became tighter, his hips stuttered and finally he spilled himself over Aziraphale’s hand._

_The sensation, hot and wet, as well as the feeling of being desired and wanted, peaked Aziraphale’s own arousal and he followed suit, painting Crowley’s hand and trousers pearly white._

_Breathing heavily Aziraphale slumped against the wall while Crowley almost fell on him, but braced himself at the last second on his arms. It took them a while to recover. The realisation of what he had done – and where – had a sobering effect on Aziraphale. He felt himself blush deeply and averted his gaze. What now? He really did not know the etiquette for a situation like this._

_But apparently Crowley did. When he had caught his breath, he pushed himself up. Relaxed he adjusted his clothes which reminded Aziraphale that he should do the same._

_After Crowley had dressed himself again, he met Aziraphale’s eyes and winked. With a charming smirk he casually leant against the wall and said, “Hey! Wanna go out again next week?"_

_Unable to keep himself from smiling like a lovesick teenager, Aziraphale nodded._

_“I think I’d like that.”_

“You okay, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, concern in his voice.

Aziraphale was grateful for the darkness on the staircase for it would hopefully hide how red his face would be. Lost in his memories, he had stared at Crowley, not noticing how Crowley had turned his gaze on him as well.

“Oh, yes, fine, just nervous,” he stated, not exactly lying. 

“You’d be stupid not to,” Crowley said in a light tone. “And you’re not.”

“Neither are you,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Smart, how you and Anathema tricked Ghan’lach.”

“Was mostly her idea.”

“But you made him believe you were under his control.”

“True, but that was more my charms than my brains,” Crowley said with a mischievous smile.

“I’m sorry I doubted you,” Aziraphale said, looking downwards. “I should have known that you would not betray us and help Ghan’lach.”

Crowley shook his head.

“Don’t apologize,” he said. “It was hard to resist. I think he… offered the wrong thing. Had he suggested something else… I don’t know if I could have stayed strong.”

“I’m sure you could have,” Aziraphale smiled.

“You put more trust in me than I do,” Crowley whispered and let his thumb stroke over Aziraphale’s cheek bone for a second. Then he pulled away, cleared his throat and said, “we should stay alert.” 

Aziraphale could not help but be reminded how much fun Crowley and he had had together. Despite all the protesting and whining, it had done Aziraphale some good to go out with Crowley. He did have fun at the parties or in the pubs. Nightclubs were not his thing, no matter how hard he had tried, but for Crowley he could bear that, too. Just not every weekend. Crowley had simply overwhelmed him, but there was no ill intent. Crowley just was like that. Fast, spontaneous and bent on pleasure. 

Aziraphale was different, but this was nobody’s fault. Maybe they should have done more to understand each other. Maybe they could still do it? If they were not killed tonight.

“Crowley?”

“Hmm?” 

“I was wondering. Maybe we could…”

Crowley’s phone buzzed and Crowley quickly looked at the screen.

“From Anathema,” he said. “Apparently she managed to get Ghan’lach’s attention. He is busy trying to break down her circle. We should go.”

“O-okay.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a comforting pat to the shoulder. 

“I’m sure Anathema is fine,” he said. “Come on. Quiet and quick.”

On the staircase it was unnervingly quiet, but as soon as they opened the door to the 13th floor, loud banging, rattling and clanking reached their ears. Since the rest of the corridor lay in silence, it was no question that the noises came from the bathrooms. But Aziraphale fought the urge to run to Anathema’s aid.

Instead he followed Crowley who sneaked towards the conference room the workers had caught Sandal Byss in. Aziraphale watched as Crowley pressed down the door handle, slow and careful as not to make any noise. 

When the door was open, Crowley slid through the gap and whispered, “I suggest one of us looks for hollow spaces in the walls, the other stays near the door and looks out for… oh shit!”

Upon hearing Crowley curse, Aziraphale followed his gaze and clasped both his hands over his mouth to keep himself from screaming. There, illuminated by the flickering light of a neon sign on the other side of the road, lay the lifeless body of a familiar chubby bald man.

“Sandal.” Crowley rushed towards him, checking his pulse, saying again, “Shit.”

“Is he…”

“Yeah.” Crowley rubbed his face and groaned. “Damn. I hated him, but this…”

Feeling dizzy, Aziraphale leaned against the wall. Faintly he still heard the sounds of stall doors slamming, reminding him that they ran on borrowed time. But he needed a moment. He gulped as he stared down at the white face and the wide open yet empty eyes of Sandal Byss. Aziraphale saw no injuries but the terror on Byss’ face spoke volumes. 

“This… this makes no sense,” Aziraphale stammered. “Why would Ghan’lach kill his new host? He needs him. Dead, he cannot give permission to take over his body.”

“Well, maybe dead... he doesn’t have to?” Crowley suggested. 

Aziraphale shook his head.

“No,” he said. “If corpses were any good for this, Ghan’lach could have taken over any of the people who died here - by his hand or due to other causes.. Arthur, Judy, Bob and whoever came in between.”

“Hmm, you’re right,” Crowley said. “Fuck! How am I gonna explain this to Bee?”

“As sorry as I feel for Mr. Byss and even more his sister,” Aziraphale sighed, “we have other problems.”

“Yeah, I know,” Crowley said. “Since Sandal apparently is not Ghan’lach’s dance partner, he was not here for the stone, so we have no clue where it is.”

“Yes.” Aziraphale let himself fall against the wall. Trying to fight down the rising panic, he ran a hand through his hair and drew in heavy breaths.

“Hey.” Crowley was by his side in a heartbeat. “Angel, calm down. I need that amazing braín of yours now. We must find the stone and we have established that you’re the smart one a long time ago.”

Crowley gave Aziraphale a lop-sided grin and despite the grim situation Aziraphale returned it. He even giggled a bit as Crowley tipped a finger against his nose.

To be a little more comfortable, they left the conference room with the corpse and hid in the one on the other side. 

Aziraphale sat down against the wall and recalled what he knew about the stones.

“Okay,” he said. “Arthur hid the stones shortly before Ghan’lach killed him. He wrote about this in his diary which was in his study. So we can assume that one stone - the last he hid - was there.”

Crowley hummed in agreement and drew a red dot in the office room they knew was Arthur Hill’s former study.

“But Ghan’lach will have thought about that as well and therefore probably sent his minion - whoever it was - to this room.”

“That makes sense,” Crowley said while he drew lines between the two dots. “Okay, we don’t know how Arthur’s apartment looked like, but to form a symmetric pattern with these points the other two stones must be here and here.”

He pointed at a spot close to the elevator and a small closet.

“The elevator has been a problem child as long as I remember,” Aziraphale said. “I think a runestone in this wall is very likely to be the one that was accidentally destroyed by a construction worker who tried to repair the elevator.”

“Leaves the closet. Let’s go.” Crowley got to his feet and pulled Aziraphale up as well. 

“Okay, but let’s be careful,” Aziraphale said. “If it’s not Sandal, it has to be one of the construction workers after all. And he must be close by to serve as Ghan’lach’s new body at midnight.”

Quietly they snuck along the floor towards the floor’s break room where the workers stored their tools. Crowley grabbed a large hammer, Aziraphale a crowbar.

“We should have these stakes ready,” Crowley said. “No way we can do this quietly. Here, I collected yours after Ghan’lach disarmed us.”

“Thanks,” Aziraphale nodded. “Not that they helped us much the last time.”

“Not much but some,” Crowley grinned as he peeked down the floor to look out for threats. “And it’s better than nothing.”

“I guess.”

Without any incidents they arrived at the broom closet which unsurprisingly was not locked. They slipped in and closed the door behind them, even if it would not do much to muffle the sound of a breaking wall.

Unlike the offices and conference rooms, the closet had not been cleared out. Crowley and Aziraphale carefully put the cleaning supplies and tools aside so they could examine the walls. As delicately as possible they knocked against them, listening closely.

After a few minutes Aziraphale found what he was looking for. In a corner, very close to the ground, his tapping elicited a hollow sound instead of a firm knock.

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged questioning looks. With a nod they signalled each other that they were prepared - or as prepared as they would ever be. Then both grabbed their tools and swung them against the wall. 

The plaster splintered and crumbled away at their first hit, the brickwork fell after two more hits. Quickly they dropped their tools and armed themselves with the maypole stakes Agnes had given them. Straining their ears, they listened into the stillness of the nightly building. 

Nothing.

Insecure, Aziraphale searched Crowley’s face, but he saw that Crowley was unsure as well. For good reason. Even if Ghan’lach despite his nature could not be in two places at the same time and was distracted by Anathema, it was unlikely that he had not heard the noise which had come with the destruction of the wall.

“Maybe the noise he is making in the bathroom was louder than we were?” Aziraphale suggested, doubting his own words. 

“Would be nice,” Crowley said with a wry smile. “But even if it’s a trick, we can’t stand here forever,” he reached for his phone and checked the screen, “it’s 23:49. I’ll watch the door - and the inner walls, I guess - and you search the hole.”

Aziraphale nodded and did what Crowley had told him. Squatting down, he looked into the opening and started roaming through the rubble inside. His heart started beating faster as he felt something that did not seem to belong there. Between the rough and sharp remains of bricks and concrete his fingers touched something smooth and round. Excited, he grabbed it and pulled it out of the hole.

In the palm of his hand lay a small dark grey stone, its glossy surface even except for strange symbols, unknown to Aziraphale. They had been engraved in the stone and painted in a light gold. It was pretty to look at and a lot of people might mistake it for mere decoration. But apparently it was what stood between the world and Ghan’lach.

“Well done,” Crowley praised him. “Okay, now to get the thing to Anathema’s magic circle. Let’s go.”

They scurried along the corridor towards the men’s lavatory. The sound of Ghan’lach’s wrath grew louder with every step and as they stood before the door, Aziraphale suddenly was convinced that they had been wrong: the noise of the wall breaking would definitely have been covered by this commotion.

A nervous glance at his phone told Aziraphale that it was 23:58.

“On three,” Crowley whispered and Aziraphale gave an affirmative nod.

“One, two, three.”

Crowley kicked open the door and they both stormed into the bathroom. The place was a mess. Constantly the stall doors were slamming shut and jumping open again, safe for the last one which had already been ripped out of its angles. The large mirror was broken, shards littered on the floor. The sinks were shaking, the porcelain fissuring under the pressure.

Anathema was kneeling in a huge crayon circle, complicated symbols adorning the outer ring. Newt sat next to her, pale as the moon. Until now Anathema had been reciting words Aziraphale recognized as Latin, but she fell silent as she spotted the two of them.

“Anathema! Catch!” Aziraphale called and threw the stone towards her. 

It flew through the room in a high arch. Anathema stretched her arms out, her small hands reaching up. The runestone passed the circle’s outer line, it landed in Anathema’s palm and her slender fingers closed around it.

All movement ceased and all sounds faded, a short silence that was followed by the buzzing of a phone. It was Crowley’s. He checked.

“Midnight,” he said. “It’s Halloween.”

“That’s in your calendar?”

“Big spooky fan me.” 

For a moment Aziraphale allowed himself a small smile, but soon his face fell again. He watched his own breath dance in front of him as white fog, a thin white veil formed on the shattered glass of the mirror and a shudder went through Aziraphale's body. All of a sudden it was ice cold in the bathroom.

“In the circle! Quick!” Anathema ordered. “Just be careful not to disturb the crayon symbols.”

They hopped over the outer ring of the protective circle, kneeling beside Anathema and Newt, turning their heads to all directions in apprehension.

Aziraphale huddled as close as possible to Crowley, for warmth and comfort. Protectively Crowley put an arm around him and gave him an encouraging smile, but in his eyes Aziraphale saw a fear similar to his own.

Around them grey-white mist started to fill the room. It grew thicker and thicker until Aziraphale had trouble seeing Crowley right next to himself.

After a while the fog began to drift, no, it was almost like it pulsated, contracted like a muscle and then, like a storm, it… brewed. It gathered as a white, wavering pillar right in front of the circle they all were kneeling in.

With horror, Aziraphale noticed that it took the form of a man and he did not doubt that this was Ghan’lach. Despite being still in ghostly form, he looked more human than before. Where his features had only remotely reminded of a person a few hours ago, he now wore the distinct face of a young man. With his deep dark eyes, the high cheekbones and the strong jawline he would have been very attractive under normal circumstances, but the knowledge that he was an evil amalgam of a human and a demon spoilt the handsome facade somewhat. His long black hair was falling on his shoulders and a simple dark robe covered the tall and slender body - or the ethereal echo of it.

“Not bad,” he said with an amused smile. “Thanks for finding the stone for me. But it really was not necessary. Samhain gives me all the power I need to find magic objects myself.”

“The difference is that in the walls it would have been vulnerable to you,” Anathema said.

“You think you can keep the circle active until sunrise, little witch?”

“I will certainly try!” Her chin lifted up and her eyes narrowed, Anathema held Ghan’lach’s gaze.

“Oh, I don’t doubt you would be stubborn and skilled enough to keep it magically powered,” Ghan’lach said, with what could almost be called respect. “That’s why it really is a shame it will fail due to something so mundane.”

“Mundane like what?”

Ghan’lach pursed his lips which did nothing to veil his wicked smile. A dark chuckle escaped him as he bent down to meet Anathema eye to eye.

“Mundane as smudged crayon, my lovely.”

Unfazed, Anathema scoffed.

“You won’t unsettle me,” she told him. “The circle is intact. You could not enter it before midnight and none of us touched the crayon. The symbols are perf…”

An ugly scraping sound interrupted her, a noise like something being dragged over dirty ground. They all turned their heads towards the source.

Unnoticed by anyone, Newt had gotten up. His left foot stood on the outer line of the circle, the crayon around it wiped away, the symbols at this spot only white smudges.

“Newt?” Anathema asked weakly, voice breaking.

Newt looked at her with tears in his eyes and quivering lips.

“I’m sorry, Anathema,” he said and stepped away from the circle, towards Ghan’lach.

Ghan’lach floated behind him, his ghostly hands finding Newt’s shoulders.

“See, little witch?” Ghan'lach said. “Now it gets interesting.”


	9. Chapter 9

“Newt?” Anathema asked again, tears dwelling in her dark eyes as she watched Ghan’lach’s shadow form engulf Newt.

“Get away from him, Newt!” Aziraphale called out and Crowley was afraid he might jump between the ghost and Newt. But Aziraphale stayed close to Crowley, allowing himself to be dragged towards the door.

“Newt, please!” Anathema said. “He needs your permission to take over your body! And you don’t have to give it.”

“I already did,” Newt whispered with quivering lips, barely audible over Ghan’lach’s chuckle.

Newt closed his eyes. Behind him Ghan’lach rose up into the air, stretched out his arms and turned into a cloud of grey smoke which slowly but steadily wandered into Newt’s body.

They should have run, but Crowley could only guess that – like himself – Anathema and Aziraphale were too shocked, too horrified to react fast enough.

When the smoke was gone, Newt’s eyes snapped open. With an interested mien he studied his hands, stretched his legs and wiggled with his feet as if to test them.

Of course, the man before them still looked like Newt, but everything about him screamed “Not Newt”. His expression was haughty, there was a sadistic glint in his eyes and his posture was much too straight and confident to be Newton Pulsifier’s.

“Not bad,” he said as if considering a new suit. “A healthy young man. Not exactly influential or rich, but I can change that. At least he sure has no suspicious crime record, am I right?”

Ghan’lach barked out a laugh and then cast the three remaining humans a look of fake disappointment.

“Not even a courtesy chuckle? How rude,” he said with a pout. “Well, I will take that stone now, Miss Device.”

He stretched his hand out in Anathema’s direction, moving his fingers back and forth in a demanding way. But Anathema now snapped out of her shock. She scrambled to her feet and made a run for the door.

Her movement reminded Aziraphale and Crowley that escaping was the best and only option they had. They opened the door and wanted to flee with Anathema.

Just outside, they heard Anathema scream. When they turned back, they saw how Ghan’lach had grabbed her long black hair and pulled her towards him. She managed to turn in his grip and tried punching his face, but he caught her wrist easily with his left. Before she could make another move, he slapped her face hard with his free hand, sending her sprawling to the floor. Her gaze fell on Crowley and Aziraphale who were rushing back in to help her, but Ghan’lach, towering over Anathema, blocked their path.

In an act of desperation, Anathema grabbed her bag, gave it a forceful shove and let it slide across the floor towards Aziraphale who instinctively bent down and snatched it.

“Run!” Anathema yelled.

Aziraphale hesitated. While Crowley could understand the unwillingness to leave Anathema behind, he knew that she wanted them to prioritize the stone. And she was right.

So Crowley seized Aziraphale’s wrist and dragged him out of the bathroom. While they ran down the hallway, Crowley heard Ghan’lach growl in annoyance. Looking over his shoulder, Crowley saw Ghan’lach stare after them. But then he turned towards Anathema and bent down to her. Then the bathroom door fell shut, blocking Crowley’s sight.

“How could we have been so wrong?” Aziraphale asked as they hurried away. “How did we not see that Newt…”

“Ghan’lach got to him,” Crowley said. “Ghan’lach probably thought someone so close to us would be more useful than poor Sandal. He got rid of Sandal and orchestrated Newt sabotaging us.”

“Damn it!”

“Couldn’t agree more, angel.”

They raced through the corridor, around the corner and along the conference rooms. Aziraphale seemed to have a destination and Crowley followed, even though he did not see many chances for them.

“Where are we even going?” Crowley panted. “We can’t remove the stone from the 13th floor lest it will lose its power.”

“I know,” Aziraphale answered. “Maybe if we can get to Arthur’s old study, he can hide us in his memory. Time passes differently there. Last time we were there maybe 15 minutes but hours had passed here. If we do that again, we could make it until sunri…”

A large pillar of dark smoke appeared in front of them. They stumbled back, but it was too late. When the mist cleared, a very angry Ghan’lach in Newt’s body stood in the way.

In two long strides he closed the distance between them and pushed Crowley away with inhuman strength. Crowley cried out when his head collided with the wall.

He must have been out for a few seconds because when his vision returned, blurry and grainy at first, Aziraphale was lying on the floor, desperately holding on to Anathema’s bag. But Ghan’lach only laughed at his attempts and simply ripped off the straps.

Ghan’lach reached inside the bag and pulled out the small stone with a triumphant grin.

“Finally,” he whispered.

Despite his dizziness, Crowley tried getting to his feet to stop Ghan’lach, but it was too late. Ghan’lach’s hand closed around the runestone, his eyes started to glow in an unholy red and a moment later, a fine dark powder trickled from his fist.

“So much for that,” he said, looking down at the remains of his last prison ward. “I think… what _now_?” he turned his head as if he had heard something and then sighed, almost fondly, “the little witch just doesn’t know when to give up, does she?”

He bent down, tipped on Aziraphale’s forehead and disappeared. Aziraphale let out a small whimper and slumped to the floor, unconscious.

“Aziraphale?” Crowley crawled over to Aziraphale’s body, shaking him. “Angel?”

“He took him.” The voice was familiar, but usually not that sad.

Crowley turned around. Behind him stood Bob, a grave expression on the friendly face. By his side stood several other people, one of the Arthur Hill, some others familiar, too. Crowley was sure they had worked for his company once.

“Bob!” Crowley exclaimed. “What does that mean? ‘Took’ him? He is still breathing.”

“It’s hard to explain,” Arthur said. “He is between our world and the demon’s. I think Ghan’lach did this to punish you.”

“How do I get him back?”

“There is a way,” Arthur spoke. “But it’s risky.”

Crowley jumped to his feet, marching towards Hill.

“I don’t care!” he said. “I’ll do anything for him. What do I have to do?”

Arthur Hill nodded.

“Very well,” he said. “Ghan’lach still keeps us here. But the witch is distracting him and the stones no longer weaken us. Together,” he gestured over the ghosts around him, “we should be strong enough to open a gateway to the place between Caom and Ghan’lach.”

“That’s where Aziraphale is?”

“Yes, but be warned,” Arthur said. “The gate will close behind you. You can free your lover only if you separate Caom and Ghan’lach.”

“Is that even possible?” Crowley asked. “I thought they are one.”

“I know the story of Caom and Ghan’lach of course,” Arthur said, sounding a tad arrogant. “But death gave me a lot more insights about souls. Two souls can never truly merge. They can connect – through love, hatred, by choice or by chance – but they will always be two. Find the point where Caom and Ghan’lach are connected and cut the connection. Without an anchor to this world, Ghan’lach will be thrown back to his home world.”

“And Caom?”

“I never knew them two as separate beings,” Arthur said with a shrug. “So I cannot know who is master and who is pawn.”

“But we do know that without the demon Caom is just a man, right?” Bob asked.

“Yes and no, my friend,” Arthur said. “Caom was a master of his profession before he summoned the demon, but in the end a mortal man, yes.”

“Alright, find the connection and cut it,” Crowley repeated. “Bob, Arthur, other…erm… dead people, open that gate.”

Arthur gave the assembled ghosts a nod and they returned it. They gathered in a circle, closed their eyes and lowered their gaze.

After a few seconds a small ripple in the fabric of the world appeared between them. Arthur pointed at it with one hand and made a wide gesture with the other, causing the opening to grow. When it was big enough for Crowley to fit through, Arthur turned to him.

“Good luck,” he said. “Remember, you are the only one who will be there in body, but on this plane those who are there in spirit can also harm you. Maybe even more so.”

“Right,” Crowley nodded. “I’m ready.”

With that, he stepped into the rift.

*

One second Aziraphale was lying on the floor, in the next he found himself on the same floor which was most definitely not the same floor. The place was designed just like the 13th floor, but the walls had the color and the consistency of skin, large blue tendrils ran along them, pumping a dark liquid like mass through the place like oversized veins. Instead of the construction site lamps, floating red orbs illuminated the area, forming an eerie purple glow together with the blue veins. Where usually were windows, were just black holes, leading into a lightless void.

In front of him stood Ghan’lach, here in this place not looking like Newt but like he had in the bathroom. Only this time his form was solid as Aziraphale noticed when his chin was grabbed forcefully.

“Really strange,” Ghan’lach said.

“What?” Aziraphale asked, trying to show no fear.

“You are pleasant to look at - for someone who is attracted to men,” Ghan’lach said. “Not enough for the man you love though apparently.”

“What are you even talking about, you…you… mad man?”

“Oh, right, you don’t know what I offered to Crowley,” Ghan’lach answered with fake sympathy. “I offered him a life with you in exchange for his help. But it seems whatever there is in a world not ruled by me, is better than you.”

“That… that is humbug!” Aziraphale said. “Not making deals with demons doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about me.”

“Of course,” Ghan’lach said. “I’m sure you are one of his favourite toys. It’s just that you cannot outweigh the whole toy chest it seems.”

“I… Crowley is…”

“If you excuse me now,” Ghan’lach interrupted. “I need to find that witch. She is spreading dried spring flowers everywhere and this really doesn’t go well with the… vibe of this place.”

Ghan’lach winked, transformed into a wave of dark fog which rushed down the corridor.

“Anathema.” In his concern for his friend, Aziraphale shook off the heartbreak he felt and ran after Ghan’lach, not knowing what he would do if he found him.

*

Crowley made a disgusted face. After passing through the portal, he arrived in a very gross version of the 13th floor. Red light flooded the corridor, casting unnerving shadows on the walls made of skin and blood vessels. A dark liquid ran through the veins, having them pulsate and contract.

Shuddering Crowley tried to ignore this uncanny parody of body parts and focused on finding Aziraphale. Sure, like Arthur had said, he would not be able to get them out of here without destroying the connection, but Aziraphale might have an idea on how to accomplish this.

Relieved, Crowley noted that the doors all stood open so he could search the rooms without touching the handles. Not only did they look like skeletal fingers, they also wiggled whenever he got close.

The first two conference rooms were empty, but from the third Crowley heard somebody crying. When he rushed in, he spotted none other than Newt Pulsifier, cowering in one of the corners.

Gripped by a sudden rush of rage, Crowley stormed through the room, grabbed Newt’s collar and brutally pulled him up.

“Why?” he growled. “Why would you do that?”

“I had to! It’s all my fault!” Newt exclaimed. “He swore he would spare Anathema and you guys if I destroyed the circle.”

“That makes no sense,” Crowley snapped. “I agree that it’s your fault. But she would not need saving had you not done it! Anathema had things pretty much under control!”

“Maybe she thought that,” Newt said. “But… he is strong. I know that. He was in my head.”

“He was in all our heads!”

“He has been in mine quite often.”

Crowley’s eyes widened and he let go off Newt. Eyes glowering, he pointed at Newt.

“That… was not a spontaneous change of plan, was it?” he asked. “Sandal never was Ghan’lach’s new host.”

“No.” Newt shook his head, regret and shame written all over his face.

“Why?” Crowley asked again, this time more incredulous than angry.

“It started last year, in October.” Newt laughed without humour, “Now I know why. He started talking to me, especially when I felt lonely or like a failure. Which is quite often. At first I accepted it as the comfort it was, but then he offered more. Money, fame, whatever I wanted, if I helped him find a stone and freed him. But I refused. Talking and listening was one thing, actually making business with a bodiless voice seemed…”

“Risky? Stupid? Crazy as fuck?” Crowley provided with an angry snarl.

“Yes,” Newt said, ashamed. “But then I met Anathema.” For a moment a fond but wistful smile spread across Newt’s face. “I spent maybe an hour with her to install our new software on her computer, but it was enough to fall head over heels for her. She is so funny and witty and smart and…”

“Yeah, I get it. She’s awesome,” Crowley said and, with sarcasm dripping from his words, added, “But have you thought about courting her… I don’t know… without the help of an evil spirit?”

“Of course,” Newt whined. “I tried and she seemed to like me, too, but something held her back. So I started wondering what was wrong with me and - I don’t know if it was Ghan’lach whispering to me or my own insecurities - I believed that someone as amazing as Anathema would never want to be with a nerdy loser like me. Just me wouldn’t be enough. I needed to treat her like she deserved. The books she wants, the magic artefacts she wants - all that should be hers. But that stuff is very expensive.  
One morning I came into my office and found a lottery ticket in my - locked - drawer. I just knew who had placed it there. You know which numbers were on it? Only zeros. You know what happened on the day of the draw? They changed!  
What can I say? I won 5000 bucks.  
I used it to have burglar-proof windows and doors installed at my Mom’s place and what was left to buy occult books, tarot cards and stuff like that for Anathema, well, and some for myself so I could talk to her about it. She was happy about my interest, but still there was something that kept her away. In hindsight I think accepting the lottery ticket was like letting Ghan’lach in because soon I heard him again, but this time long before Halloween. He convinced me that it was my whole persona that had Anathema hesitate. That no matter how much she liked me, no woman would want to be seen with someone as plain and broke as me. He promised me more money if only I would find and destroy this stone and help him gain his freedom. And so one night, I did.”

“You broke in, tore a hole in the wall, re-plastered it and left with the stone you found?”

“Well, I didn’t break in, I just stayed in late, but yes, pretty much. To be fair, the hole was behind Joanne’s file cabinet so nobody saw how poorly the filling was. I found another lottery ticket and am now a rich man. New clothes, fancy car, elegant phone, all mine. What I did not know was that the stone was only the first step. I understood what Ghan’lach said as ‘destroy the stone to free me’, but admittedly, he actually said ‘destroy the stone _and_ free me from this existence’.”

“The stone was only one step to free him from this _prison_ ,” Crowley said. “The act of freeing him from his _existence_ is giving him your body.”

“Exactly,” Newt sighed. “To free him from his current existence as a ghost, I have to serve as his host. When I understood this, I panicked. But he was not strong enough to take over my body yet so I thought maybe I would get away after all. I had never agreed to destroy more than one stone so I refused to help him find more. I did not know that another stone had already been destroyed.  
I stopped talking to him and it seemed to work - until October. With only two runestones left and Samhain approaching, he was powerful enough to seriously sabotage the drainage and wiring on the 13th - much more than in the years before, forcing Mr. Ether to take action. He decided on full renovations, including opening several walls. But Ghan’lach never came to claim that I make good on my promise so I hoped that the remaining stones were still intact. In my defence, I thought there were still three of them.

“’In your defence’?” Crowley repeated, incredulous. “That’s no defence! There is absolutely no defence for what you did. And it still makes no sense. Why did you not let Anathema do her thing? At least you would have had a chance to keep your body!”

“Ghan’lach… he said he would win and of course he would. He is older and stronger than Anathema! He threatened to kill her as soon as he beat her, but if I helped him break the circle, he would spare her.”

“Idiot!” Crowley hissed. “Why would he offer that if he was so sure he would win?”

“I… I thought… maybe… he… shit!” Newt exclaimed. “You’re absolutely right. He… he messed with my head so I didn’t see it. He is afraid of her.”

“ _Was_ ,” Crowley corrected. “He was afraid of her. Now he is free. Not sure how long she can hold her ground.”

“What have I done?” Newt buried his face in his hands, but Crowley was not having that.

“Save your self-pity for later,” he snapped. “Tell me anything I need to know about him. Any weaknesses?”

“How would I know, Crowley?” Newt cried. “I know nothing about druids or demons or ghosts. I’m just ‘Newt from IT’. I’m not in any way special. I don’t even know why he picked me and not Joanne. She is at least the _head_ of IT. Still not exactly a queen, but with more power than I.”

At that Crowley tensed. Indeed. Why Newt? Even in the IT department on the 13th were people more influential, better connected or just wealthier. Did that mean something?

With a frustrated groan Crowley rubbed his face. If only Aziraphale were here. Okay, what would his smart little angel do? Recapitulate. Alright, Ghan’lach had talked to Newt. That was not special, he had contacted several people. He had gotten in Newt’s head – neither unusual after making the first deal. He gave him a lottery ticket.

Crowley furrowed his brows.

“An object,” he whispered. “He materialized an object in your office – a magical object even.”

“So?”

“I don’t recall any story about him being able to do that without a body. He talked, he manipulated people and machines, but using magic that interacts physically with the world was only possible close to Samhain. But in your office he could do that when?”

“The first ticket appeared in August, I think?”

“So maybe his decision for you was not a choice of person but of place,” Crowley said. “Where is your office? Well, the equivalent of the location in that icky version of reality?”

*

Aziraphale rushed into an empty office room. In the purple glow from the hallway he could see Anathema, pressed against the wall of skin and veins by Ghan’lach who just wrestled a little herb sachet from her hands.

“Tsk, tsk,” he said. “I already have your bag and still you have some cute little trinkets hidden somewhere. Impressive you could bring them here.”

“I’m full of surprises!” Anathema pressed out between gritted teeth while she tried to push Ghan’lach away.

“That you are,” Ghan’lach laughed. “But so am I.”

With a forceful push he sent her sprawling to the floor and in the blink of an was next to Aziraphale. Ghan’lach grabbed Aziraphale and pulled him in front of Anathema.

“Alright, my pretty,” he said. “I’m bound to a pact that says I cannot kill you. Nothing keeps me from killing your friend here, right before your eyes.”

“No!” Anathema said. “Please! Don’t hurt him.”

“Empty your pockets for me, young lady,” Ghan’lach said.

A defiant look on her face, Anathema got to her feet and reached into the pockets of her skirt. She dropped another sachet, an amulet and talisman to the floor.

Ghan’lach waved and the items flew into his hands.

“Good girl!” he said. “Now let’s see. I said I won’t kill the two of you, but that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun. For example I was never very deep in your minds because you two are some stubborn little things. Now, however, I have much more power so…”

Ghan’lach frowned and narrowed his eyes.

“Again?” he growled and then smiled at Anathema and Aziraphale. “I’ll get back to you later. Don’t move.”

As soon as he had spoken, cold metal chains appeared from nowhere, wrapping around the two humans, holding them in place.

Ghan’lach was gone.

*

It was not Crowley’s favourite part of the plan to trust Newt again so shortly after his betrayal, but his options were limited and at least while telling his story, Newt had seemed genuine if pretty stupid.

“That’s my office.” Newt pointed at the second to last door before the corridor took a turn.

Crowley noticed that in the veins on the other side of this door the liquid streamed in the opposite direction than in the ones on their side. Letting his eyes wander over the veins on the ceiling, he noticed the same thing. Whatever it was in the blood vessels, it seemed to flow towards Newt’s office.

Of course Crowley did not know whether or not this meant something and if so if it was anything good, but he had only this one lead anyway.

As they entered the room, they both gasped. They stood in a horrifying parody of an IT-office. The veins on this walls were bleeding, the blood forming nonsensical computer codes, the carpet appeared like human hair and the desk in the centre was a solid block formed of bones. Instead of a computer there was large pumping heart on it and the keyboard had teeth instead of keys.

“I hate what you have done with this place,” Crowley mumbled while he studied the room.

After a moment his eyes wandered up. Above them several blood vessels crawled along the ceiling and they all ended in a large knot of veins, forming a black ball that seemed to pulsate with sickness and evil.

Before Crowley could point Newt to the strange thing over their heads, they were suddenly engulfed by darkness. The room filled with black fog which slowly transformed into the familiar form of Ghan’lach.

“You humans really don’t know when to give up, do you?” he asked in a condescending tone.

Then he took a swing with his right arm and once more Crowley was thrown against a wall.

Crowley groaned. His whole body was in pain and his vision was blurry. But he saw that Ghan’lach was no longer attacking because he was busy with Newt..

Ghan’lach had grabbed Newt by the throat and lifted him up. In his eyes burned deep rage as he snarled into Newt’s face.

“I promised you not to kill your little witch,” he said. “This does not mean that I cannot do unspeakable things to her. While wearing your body nonetheless. How will that make the poor thing feel?” Ghan’lach smiled a cruel smile. “She’s a pretty one, isn’t she? I can’t remember the last time I had a woman underneath me.”

“You. Will. Not. Touch. Her,” Newt pressed out while his legs dangled uselessly in the air.

“This fully depends on you,” Ghan’lach said. “She is safe as long as you are peaceful in here. If not, keeping her alive is the only promise I am obliged to keep.”

With slow movements Crowley left the corner Ghan’lach had thrown him into. Keeping his eyes on the ghost, he crawled towards the desk.

Ghan’lach had too much fun listing all the disgusting things he would do to Anathema should Newt not swear to submit. It was gross to listen to, but at least Ghan’lach was distracted and did not turn around until Crowley was behind the desk.

Just as he had found cover, Crowley heard Ghan’lach say, “Now, to your little fr… where is he?”

There was no time to think. The desk was the only hiding spot in the room and it would not take long for Ghan’lach to find Crowley.

Gathering all his remaining strength of body and will, Crowley pulled himself up and climbed on the desk, the bones clattering under his weight.

Ghan’lach screamed in rage and pointed at him.

“You!” he yelled. “You could have had everything. I offered you power, riches and I offered you the man you love!”

“No, you didn’t offer me Aziraphale.” Crowley shook his head. “You offered me an empty vessel, looking like Aziraphale, doing whatever I say.” Crowley chuckled, fond memories of Aziraphale flooding his mind. “Believe me, an Aziraphale without discussions and sassy comebacks is no Aziraphale at all.”

“This is nonsense,” Ghan’lach said. “Why would you want a relationship like that?”

Crowley sighed.

“Ghan’lach?” he said. “You know shit about love, don’t you?”

In one smooth move Crowley reached into his jacket to grab the maypole stake, took charge along the desk and jumped towards the large ball of pulsating blackness on the ceiling. As forceful as he could Crowley rammed the stake into the dark mass.

For a second nothing happened.

Then the weave of veins started to shake and with it all the connected the strains. The stake was sucked into the black lump and disappeared. Crowley tried to hang onto something else but the ceiling lamp was too far away, the veins too slippery. With a curse he fell down and painfully landed on the ground.

At first he thought, all was lost. It was after all just a small piece of Beltane against a powerful spirit of Samhain.

But compared to a human body, a knife is small as well and yet fatal if applied at the right spot.

After a few seconds the knot of veins above them started to glow from inside. The deep green light spread – at first inside the lump than into the veins which carried it further.

“No!” Ghan’lach screamed. “No! Impossible! What have you done?”

With his face contorted in rage and hatred, he raced towards Crowley, but before he could reach him, an invisible force stopped him.

A bloodcurdling cry of agony escaped Ghan’lach as he was forced to his knees. He writhed in pain, his whole body shaking.

Crowley stared in horror, but soon the scene faded away before his eyes. For a short moment everything went black, then he was in Newt’s office again. This time however, in the real world. Well, in _his_ world. The other one had been real as well, terrifyingly so.

The transparent figure of Ghan’lach stood near the desk, eyeing his own ghostly limbs in confusion.

“What have you done?” he asked. “Where is it?”

“What?”

“The spirit! I need it! I want my power back!”

Crowley raised a brow.

“Caom?” he asked.

The man’s head snapped towards him.

“Yes, idiot!” he hissed. “Thanks to you I lost the strongest power source any druid ever had.”

“Yeah, tough luck, man,” Crowley shrugged. “See yourself out. As far as I know no ghost should be bound to this place anymore.”

“Impertinent fool!” Caom exclaimed. “I lost a lot of power with Ghan’lach, but there is more than enough left to deal with you!”

By a gesture of his hand an invisible force threw Crowley against the door. With a crash he landed in the corridor, Caom on his heels, lightning crackling along his hands.

“You are no match for me,” Caom announced.

“But we are.” Behind Caom, Bob, Arthur and the other ghosts appeared, all of them taking hold of his ghostly form.

“Let go of me,” Caom demanded, but the ghosts held on, keeping him in place.

All except Bob. Bob went to the nearest construction site lamp and switched it on. As soon as it shone through the hallway, all the other lamps went on as well, bathing the whole 13th floor in their light.

“What? No!” Caom yelled, but it was too late. The light, apparently still enforced by Anathema’s crystals, rushed through Caom’s ethereal body. Slowly his form began to glow from the inside and dissolved.

Long seconds after Caom had disappeared, Crowley was still staring at the place where the druid had stood. Finally he snapped out of it.

“Is it over?” he asked.

“I think it is,” Bob smiled. “Thanks to you.”

“Us,” Crowley corrected but then he gasped. “Aziraphale!”

Near the door lay Newt. He was white as chalk but breathing. So Crowley left him there and hurried along the hallway. Aziraphale still was where he had left him.

“Angel.” Crowley knelt beside him, and pulled Aziraphale’s head into his lap.

To Crowley’s relief Aziraphale’s chest was rising and falling and he had no injuries. A little mumble and a sigh indicated that he would wake up soon.

Crowley felt a presence and turned to face Bob.

“Thank you,” he said.

“No problem, mate,” Bob said and winked. “Well, actually there were a lot of problems. So let’s say ‘You’re welcome’.”

Crowley chuckled.

“What now?” he asked. “The rune stones are gone and so is Ghan’lach. You guys are free.”

“Yes, we are,” Bob nodded thoughtfully.

“Will you… move on?” Crowley asked. “Leave this world?”

“I’m not sure yet,” Bob admitted. “But it’s good to know that I could now.”

“I believe that.”

Bob put a surprisingly warm hand on Crowley’s shoulder and Crowley felt the pain of all the bruises he had suffered fade away.

“Farewell, mate,” Bob said. “And my regards to your sweetheart when he wakes up.”

After a last friendly wink and a wave, Bob was gone.

Even before Aziraphale woke up, Anathema came stumbling around the corner. She pressed her hand against her forehead and moaned.

“You okay there, Device?” Crowley asked, as soft as he could muster.

“All good,” she said, definitely lying, and knelt down beside Aziraphale who soon opened his eyes as well.

He sat up and pulled them both into a hug.

“Did we make it? We did, right?” he asked.

“Yes,” Anathema said, smiling. “I feel nothing sinister around anymore.”

Crowley and Anathema helped Aziraphale up and they all checked their phones for the time: 3:02

“Time sure flies when you’re fighting for your life,” Crowley deadpanned.

“Anathema?” Down the corridor Newt came, posture slumped and looking exhausted but unharmed.

Immediately Anathema averted her gaze.

“Anathema,” Newt repeated. “I’m so…”

“There is a dead man in one of the conference rooms,” Anathema said coolly. “We should gather our belongings to hide our involvement as best as we can before we call the police.”

With that she left the three men standing in the corridor and went in search of her bag and sachets.


	10. Chapter 10

It was a cold but bright November morning. The autumn sun fell through the bare branches of the trees, the golden light streaming over the graves, tombstones and cemetery angels. The old iron gate creaked, breaking the early morning silence on the graveyard. A couple of birds fluttered in the air, but the old cat on the bench, stealing the last sunbeams of the year, only opened one curious eye before falling asleep again.

She knew Betty. The cemetery gardeners knew her, too, as did the priest. Betty often came in the morning because she enjoyed the peaceful atmosphere of the empty graveyard.

As always she had a large basket with fresh flowers she would put on the graves nobody took care of.

With a soft smile on her face she arranged the plants she had brought on the resting places that would remain bare otherwise. She sighed, a little wistful, before she went around the chapel to her “problem child” among the graves. 

Betty did not know why, but on this specific grave no flower would survive. Like a strange curse had befallen the earth there or the man buried in it. Whenever she got there, the plants she had left the last time would have withered away, even though those of the same bunch on the other graves prospered and bloomed. But Betty was not one to give up. She did not know who that Arthur Hill was, but he, too, deserved flowers on his grave!

Fully prepared to remove dead plants and leave fresh ones, she let out a small gasp of surprise as she found Arthur Hill’s grave in full bloom. Not with arrangements or bouquets from a florist - no, wildflowers of different colours had grown over the place since her last visit. Flowers she would never have expected to grow so late in the year, but here they were.

It was odd, but Betty was not one to question away the good and beautiful things in life.

With a happy smile she squatted down in front of the grave to take in the magnificent play of colours. Letting her eyes wander over the flowers, she spotted an envelope between them.

Believing someone must have lost it, Betty took it and raised her brows in surprise when she read her own name on it.

Shrugging she opened it and found two things: a beautiful pendant made of nacre and a note. A warm feeling flooded her as she read the words.

_Thank you for caring_

_A. Hill_

Betty smiled. Probably a relative, living abroad and unable to take care of the grave themselves. They must have asked around who took care of the grave and left her a present. 

_So nice,_ she thought. 

How they had managed to grow wildflowers here so fast, however, remained a mystery.

The pendant became Betty’s favourite piece of jewellery. She kept it because she found it looked good on her dark skin, because it magically seemed to match every piece of attire she wore and because it reminded her that she had made a difference for somebody. 

Betty never knew that there were people who would pay a small fortune for the piece. She had no idea that the pendant belonged to the missing occult collection of a "Mad Man". She was neither aware that the pendant was said to grant protection to those pure of heart nor that this was true.

*

The sound of the supermarket’s sliding door ripped Jerry out of his thoughts. Befuddled, he looked around, wondering how long he had been standing here at the refrigerator, staring out of the window with the view on the dirty and dark alley on the other side of the street. 

Jerry swallowed as he spotted two suspicious figures, both wearing dark hoodies, who put their heads together and switched objects in their hands.

Wildly he shook his head as if to chase the bad thoughts away. Milk! He needed milk. Sighing, he opened the refrigerator door. Dr. Rowls had said that, right? It would never go away fully. He could get better, could be fine even. But part of him would always want to leave the milk and spend money on drugs instead.

“They’d be horrible with cereal though,” a familiar voice spoke behind Jerry and Jerry swung around.

But instead of the person he half-expected to see even though he knew it was impossible, a tall black man in a Superman-Shirt stood behind him.

“What?” Jerry asked.

The man turned his head to all sides until he realized Jerry was talking to him.

“Excuse me?” he said, confused. 

His voice was completely different than the one Jerry had heard and Jerry shook his head.

“S...sorry, I thought you said something,” he mumbled.

“Nope,” the man said with a friendly smile and asked empathically: “You alright?”

“What? Sure. Why?” Jerry stuttered.

The man smirked and pointed at Jerry’s shopping cart.

“Well, for one, you don’t stop putting bottles in your cart and unless you are a professional cheese maker, that is a lot of milk,” he chuckled. “For two, you hear voices, for three you look a bit… out of it.”

“Got a job interview in two hours,” Jerry said, putting back several bottles of milk. “Bit nervous. It’s been awhile.”

“Oh, what do you?”

“Construction work. Had my own company once, until… well, until I hadn’t.”

The other man sighed and said genuinley: “Sorry to hear that, buddy. But hey, maybe you're lucky today.”

“I don’t know,” Jerry tried to joke. “If that interview makes me hear voices…”

“Depends on what the voices say.”

“That drugs don’t go well with cereal,” Jerry said, faster than he could stop himself.

To his relief the other man laughed heartily at that.

“Well, that’s not the worst advice,” he said with an amused expression. “I gotta go now. Good luck for your interview.”

“Thanks.”

The man winked at Jerry and was about to go, but turned around one more time.

“Hey. Tonight I’ll be at the pub next door to see the game with some friends,” he said. “Why don’t you join us? We can either celebrate your new job or cheer you up.”

“That… sounds nice,” Jerry said, surprised how true it was. It really sounded nice.

“Around 7 pm?”

“Yes, great.”

“Cool,” the man smiled. “By the way, I’m Ben. Ben Summers.”

He stretched out his hand and Jerry shook it.

“Jerry Barmer,” he introduced himself.

“Alright, Jerry!” Ben gave him a thumbs up. “I’m sure you got this. But I’ll see you tonight at seven either way.”

“Cool, thanks! Bye.”

Jerry waved after Ben with a smile. He paid for his milk and went home to get ready for his interview. 

He was still nervous, but he felt a lot lighter now. No matter how it went, he had something to look forward to.

 _That was very kind of Ben_ , Jerry thought while he got dressed in front of the mirror.

“People _are_ kind, Jerry.”

Behind his own reflection Jerry saw a familiar face; warm eyes, chubby cheeks and a boyish smile. Jerry spun around, only to find his bedroom empty as before. Looking back into the mirror, the only person he saw was himself.

“I definitely need a night out,” he said, shaking his head.

Something was different. It was not the first he had hallucinations like that, but usually they came with pain, guilt and the urge to get high. Now all he felt was warmth and peace.

“I can do this,” he said to himself. “I can do this. He would want this.”

Feeling confident, Jerry left his apartment. Pleased, he noticed that the landlord finally had repaired the lamp in the corridor which now cast a warm, comforting light over the hallway and the staircase. 

Jerry did not know yet that the light would never break again. Or any other light in his home.

*

Usually the lobby of the office building was not this busy in the early morning hours. But today it was buzzing with police, confused employers and curious passersby. It had spread fast that a dead man had been found on the 13th floor, the haunted level. A couple of employers had worked late, heard strange noises, found the floor in chaos and a corpse. Or so it was told.

Most of the present police men and women were busy keeping gawkers out, but some were questioning witnesses - or were questioned.

“How?” Bee wanted to know. She looked paler than usual and due to her slumped posture also looked smaller than usual. Uncharacteristically, she allowed Gabriel to keep a comforting hand on her shoulder and stood closer to him than she would normally allow.

“The final results aren’t in yet,” Inspector Miller said. “But the coroner suspects a heart attack due to an electrical shock.”

“Electrical shock? What the Hell was he doing there?” Bee said. 

“We aren’t sure yet, Miss Byss,” Miller said, scratching his head. “We found a device on him that - connected into the internet lines - could have been used to easily spy on your company. We suspect he wanted to take advantage of the renovation works to install it. But installing a device like that in a wiring system is not layman’s work so maybe he overestimated his skills.”

Bee scoffed.

“Well, that sounds like him,” she sighed. “Both the overestimation and the spying. But why destroy the bathroom mirrors, rip off a stall door and make a mess of the broom closet first? Wouldn’t it have been smarter to leave no trace so nobody suspects anything?”

“Certainly,” Miller nodded. “You said he was very angry the last time you talked.”

“Yes, but he is… _was_ not the type to resort to mindless destruction in order to let off steam.” 

“Could he have had mental health problems?”

“I...I don’t know,” Bee said. “As you probably have guessed by now, we weren’t exactly close. So yeah, it’s possible. It’s just…” She rubbed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I just don’t get the whole thing.”

“If you need a break…”

“No, let’s get this over with.”

A few steps away, at one of the high tables near the vending machines, stood Aziraphale and Crowley, just finished with their own interviews and now listening in on Bee’s.

Crowley watched Aziraphale who stared into his coffee with a grim expression.

“Everything alright?” Crowley asked.

“Not really,” Aziraphale sighed. “I feel bad pinning all this on Sandal. I know he was not a good person, but…”

“I know,” Crowley said. 

“Bad enough he wanted to steal company secrets, but now Miss Byss thinks he hated her so much that he couldn’t stop himself from smashing walls and mirrors.”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley put a hand on Aziraphale’s. “It’s unfair, yes. But we have no choice. We’d all be on our way to the psych ward if we told the truth. And well, Sandal is dead, he doesn’t care anymore. Probably.”

“And Miss Byss?”

“Bee is tough,” Crowley said. “She and Sandal were estranged for so long. Maybe she’ll even find some comfort in the belief that he wasn’t thinking clearly in the last weeks.”

“Let’s hope so,” Aziraphale said with a grim expression.

His face lit up when Anathema joined their table.

“Hey, how did it go?” he asked.

“Oh, good,” she said quietly. “It’s certainly to our advantage that technically Sandal died of natural causes so the police don’t expect anyone to lie. They believed me, I think.”

“Us, too,” Crowley said.

“And…” Aziraphale said carefully. “What about Newt?”

“He stuck to our story, as far as I can say,” Anathema said, curt and dismissive.

“Anathema,” Aziraphale took her hand, “you know what I mean. Did he say something to you? Did you…”

She squeazed his hand and asked in a weak voice, “Can we not talk about this now?”

“Of course, dear.”

Crowley felt bad for her. A blind man could see that she saw more than a colleague or friend in Newt. Being betrayed by him must hurt horribly.

However, despite the anger Crowley felt at Newt – on Anathema’s behalf and on his own –, he could not help feeling sympathy for Newt. At least a little bit.

Newt had done a very very stupid thing out of love. Would Crowley have made a wiser choice, given the chance? 

Sure, Crowley had not taken the deal to help Ghan’lach in exchange for Ghan’lach forcing Aziraphale to be with him. But what if Ghan’lach had for example offered to turn back time so Crowley could get the chance not to be an arsehole and avoid ruining his relationship in the first place? Could he be so sure to have declined this offer?

*

When the police were done with the investigation and interviews, they released the building. They suspected no crime and while they promised Ms. Byss to get back to her with any news, it was obvious that they expected no news.

Theoretically, they could have gone back to work, but Gabriel sent them all home. From the building’s forecourt Aziraphale saw Gabriel discuss with Ms. Byss in the parking lot which ended with her rolling her eyes but stepping away from her car and getting in Gabriel’s.

Aziraphale smiled with relief. Good to know that Gabriel looked after her and that she allowed it.

As he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, Aziraphale turned around. Close behind him stood Crowley, the sudden proximity making Aziraphale’s knees buckle a bit.

“Erm, Anathema asked me to give her a ride to her aunt,” Crowley said. “She’d like for you to come along,”

“Of course,” Aziraphale said.

Anathema and he had come with Newt yesterday morning. It was to expect that Anathema did not want to get in Newt’s car now and if Aziraphale was honest, neither did he. 

So Aziraphale followed Crowley to his car where Anathema already waited. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest in a self-protective way while she walked in place, either to keep herself distracted or warm. Maybe both.

The smile she gave Aziraphale when she spotted him was warm but weak and she looked so very small. Well, she was not exactly tall, but usually her confident posture concealed this fact. Now she looked tired, defeated and sad. Aziraphale hated this. She had been so brave, smart and selfless. It was not fair that she had any reason to feel devastated after the fight.

Wordless, Crowley opened his car’s back door and ushered Anathema and Aziraphale in. Both smiled at him gratefully before huddling together on the seat with Aziraphale taking Anathema’s hand to offer some comfort.

For a few minutes they drove in silence. Aziraphale watched Anathema’s face. Deep in thought she stared at their joined hands and worried her lips between her teeth. After a while she spoke.

“Crowley?” she said.

“Hmm?”

“You said you met Newt on the other side? When you entered to save us?”

“Erm, yes, that’s right,” Crowley said. “Why?”

“Did he… say something?” Anathema asked, eyes cast downwards. “Maybe… explain?”

“Uh, erm, yes,” Crowley answered. “You wanna know?”

Anathema hesitated, but then she nodded.

“Yes, please tell me,” she said quietly.

“Alright.”

Crowley shared with Anathema and Aziraphale what Newt had told him. Hearing the story from Newt’s perspective made it a bit easier for Aziraphale to understand, if of course still not condone, what Newt had done. Judging from her face, Anathema felt similar about this.

“Thank you,” she said, barely audible, when Crowley had finished.

“No prob.”

Nobody talked for the rest of the ride. Aziraphale would have liked to say something, but did not really know what.

They arrived at Agnes Nutters’ house at noon which prompted the lady of the house to serve lunch for them. Aziraphale felt bad to impose after Agnes and Anathema had already done so much, but Agnes insisted and Anathema looked very hopeful when she asked them to stay.

Over lunch they told Agnes about their day and night on the haunted floor and she listened carefully. Afterwards she put a comforting hand on Anathema’s shoulder.

“I’m very proud of you, girl,” she said. “It is admirable how brave you were, how you improvised and how much power you were able to wield,” her expression became stern, “and, no matter how you will decide on young Newt, I will not allow that you will have your great deeds overshadowed by the stupid decision of a man.”

Her strict manner was betrayed by the warmth in her eyes and the pride in her tone. Anathema smiled and nodded.

“I’ll try,” she said. 

Later in the afternoon, Agnes was showing Crowley around in her garden, giving Aziraphale some time alone with Anathema to comfort her a bit. He was sitting on Agnes’ couch in the small and cosy living room, Anathema leaning against him backwards, staring out of the window.

“I know that Agnes is right, you know?” she said. “I did great and really should not let anyone take this from me. It’s just… I really like him. I thought he was not like the other guys I met.”

“Well, he _is_ the first to make a deal with an evil spirit to win your affection,” Aziraphale joked and for a moment thought he had gone too far when Anathema remained quiet.

But then she chuckled.

“You’re right,” she snorted. “Stephen couldn’t even be bothered to accompany me to an occult book store.”

“And what was the name of the guy who refused to buy tampons for you even though he went to the store anyway?”

“Ugh, Aidan!” Anathema groaned. “It was too ‘embarrassing’ according to him. Really not what a woman needs…”

“No, not at all.”

Sighing, Anathema adjusted her position and leant her head against Aziraphale.

“What do you think?” she asked. “Should I give him another chance? Am I being too hard on him?”

“That’s a decision you have to make, dear,” Aziraphale said softly. “I think it would neither be naïve to forgive him nor cruel not to forgive him. The question is what you want.”

“I guess, staying single forever is still an option,” Anathema sighed.

Aziraphale laughed a little at that.

“For one, I’m sure you’d be perfectly fine with or without a man,” he said. “For two, despite our jokes, Newt is not the last man on Earth.” Smiling, Aziraphale patted her shoulder. “You deserve a relationship you chose freely, not because you feel you need one.”

Anathema sat up and turned to him. Her nose puckered up in mischief and an amused smirk on her face, she tipped a finger against Aziraphale’s nose.

“ _You_ wouldn’t happen to be a little bit bi, would you?” she asked, tilting her head.

Aziraphale chuckled and felt his face heat up.

“I’m very, very flattered, dear,” he smiled. “But also very, very gay.”

With a sigh of faked desperation she let her head fall against his shoulder again.

“Yeah, I know. Love that for you,“ she smiled.

“Whether it’s Newt or someone else or nobody at all,” Aziraphale said, putting an arm around her, “you’ll be fine and you’ll never be alone.”

“Thank you,” she said. After a moment of silence, she cleared her throat, “I might have been wrong by the way.”

“Oh? About?” 

“Crowley,” she mumbled, reluctantly. “You remember how I said that he was an annoying, selfish, spoiled and stupid clown?” 

“Well, now that you remind me,” Aziraphale said with a chuckle. “You may have mentioned it once or twice a day.” 

“Yeah, well, he may not be _that_ selfish,” she said.

Amused, Aziraphale hummed.

“I do believe that’s true,” he nodded.

“He really cares about you,” Anathema said. “Ghan’lach probably tried to tell you otherwise. But if so, he lied.”

“Lying sure was his thing,” Aziraphale said grimly. “But now he is gone. He won’t deceit or hurt anyone anymore.”

“Right.”

They smiled at each other and then sat in companionable silence.

Maybe an hour had passed when Agnes and Crowley returned. Agnes looked unfazed, but Crowley’s face was pink from the cold and his teeth were clacking. 

“Are you okay?” Aziraphale asked.

“Yeah, but not a fan of winter as you know,” Crowley said. “But in here, it’s fine.”

“Ah,” Agnes smirked. “Too bad I’ll kick the two of you out now. Anathema here is due for a ladies’ night with her old aunt. Whisky and bad movies only for the girls, my friends.”

“Harsh but fair,” Crowley chuckled and winked at Agnes. But then his confident posture faded as he hid his hands in his pockets and pulled up his shoulders. “Ang… Aziraphale, can I give you a lift? I can call you a cab of course, but it’s already getting dark so there’s no way I’m letting you…ouch,” Crowley rubbed his side where Agnes had elbowed him, “I mean, it would not be wise for you to walk or wait for a bus.”

Aziraphale smiled.

“I’d appreciate a ride home, Crowley,” he said. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” Crowley hurried to say. “Anytime.”

*

Aziraphale and Crowley waved to the two women on the house’s front porch. At first, Aziraphale had been a bit worried, but Crowley had convinced him that Anathema would be fine staying with her aunt for a few days.

Trying his best to appear casual, Crowley led the way to the car, casting nervous glances towards Aziraphale whenever his ex-lover was not looking. Crowley hoped he was able to hide how nervous he was.

He had about half an hour of drive to think of something non-stupid to say and to deliver it in a non-stupid way.

 _Can’t be harder than fighting a dead demonic druid, right?_ he thought. _Or can it?_


	11. Chapter 11

_Crowley stared at the phone. For hours he had. Staring at the phone and debating whether or not to call Aziraphale. So far he had not. And he probably wouldn’t._

_At first it was pride, stubbornness, the firm belief that if Aziraphale regretted the break-up, he might as well call Crowley. Why did Crowley always have to be the one who took initiative?_

_Then Crowley had remembered that he liked taking initiative, liked being in charge and that Aziraphale was used to this. So maybe he was waiting. So Crowley had not called out of a certain pettiness. To leave Aziraphale dangling, have him wait a bit._

_That was the reason not to call until Crowley had thought of the possibility that Aziraphale was not waiting for his call at all. That by now Aziraphale might as well have calmed down and decided the break-up was a good thing. From then on the reason not to call was the fear of being the vulnerable one. The one to offer something the other did not want or need._

_After a while however, all the stupid reasons were overpowered by the simple fact that Crowley did not know what to say._

_I’m sorry? I love you? I need you?_

_All these things were true, but they had been true three days ago as well and that had not stopped Crowley and Aziraphale from agreeing to end things._

_So what to say to make a difference?_

It was fascinating how vividly one could remember the simple act of doing nothing while looking at a phone. Especially since there was no phone in sight. But still Crowley recalled every scratch on the display, every smudge on the keys and every speck on the sleek and elegant receiver. For one, because after breaking up with Aziraphale half a year ago he had watched this phone intensely. For two, the urgent wish of finding something to say was very similar to what he felt now.

Crowley was lucky that Aziraphale’s concern for Bee and Anathema had not allowed any silence to spread in the car for the last twenty minutes. 

“Hey,” Crowley said softly at one point. “They’ll be fine. Both are much tougher than they look and they aren’t alone. You had a rough night, too, Aziraphale. How are you?”

A small smile tugged on Aziraphale’s lips.

“Safe,” he answered. “I’m safe. Thanks to you. You’re a hero.”

Crowley felt a blush creep on his cheeks and focused even harder on the road. Clearing his throat, he tried his best to remain cool and casual.

“We all did this together, angel,” he said. “Anathema brought the knowledge, you had the smart ideas and I did the icky part of putting a stick in a slimy giant lump of blood vessels.”

Aziraphale chuckled.

“Right,” he said sarcastically. “And Newt gave us all the opportunity for this nice exercise in teamwork.”

“To be fair,” Crowley said. “He helped me defeat Ghan’lach in the end. And if not to Newt, Ghan’lach would have gotten to someone else, sooner or later. He was a permanent presence. Anyone could have fallen for him.”

“That’s not an excuse,” Aziraphale said. “If you forgot to lock your car, I stole it and wrecked it, would you forgive it, if I said ‘sorry, dear, but it was unlocked so _anyone_ could have done this.’?”

“How dare you suggest I’d ever forget to lock my car?” Crowley asked with fake indignation.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and said with pursed lips, “I assume the change of topic means I win the argument?”

“Nah, we delay it until I come up with smarter counters.”

“So… never?”

They resorted to light banter and Crowley loved it. Suddenly it was so easy again, to tease each other, to joke together. For a while he forgot that Aziraphale was no longer his. 

But Crowley was reminded too quickly when Aziraphale pointed at a building and said, “That’s it.”

Crowley steered the car into a free parking space and looked around.

“Seems nice,” he said, stalling. “The building _and_ the area.”

“Oh, it is!” Aziraphale smiled. “I know it’s not as fancy as your neighbourhood, but the people are very kind and I have everything I need close by: grocery store, cafes. There even is a doctor in the building I live in.”

“That… that’s good.”

“Yes.”

The silence Crowley had dreaded from the beginning of the ride threatened to spread now. He was running out of time. Any moment now Aziraphale would say his goodbyes and leave the car.

Crowley was already contemplating to lock the doors and claim a malfunction, when Aziraphale spoke.

His voice was meek, a pink blush adorned the cherub cheeks and he was staring at his fingers as he asked, “Would you like to see my new flat?”

“Yes!” Crowley said before Aziraphale had even finished the last word, jumped out of the car and jogged around it to open the passenger door and help Aziraphale out.

The neighbourhood really was nice. Crowley let his eyes wander and spotted two stores, a cafe and a restaurant. Nothing posh, but inviting. They did not encounter many people, but Aziraphale knew all of them and greeted them friendly. Crowley could feel their curious glances. They were probably wondering who or what Crowley was to Aziraphale.

Crowley wondered about that too.

The building Aziraphale resided in was unremarkable. Clean, but nothing special. The opposite was true for the flat. 

Crowley recognized most of the furniture from Aziraphale’s old home. The only new things he spotted were more bookshelves. Like the others they were made of dark wood and probably held the books Aziraphale had kept from his shop. It was to be expected. Aziraphale grew attached to things and as far as his new place allowed it, he had arranged the pieces similar to how they were before. There was less space than above the bookstore, but Aziraphale had solved that problem by putting a bookshelf against every free wall.

When Crowley turned back to Aziraphale, Aziraphale was wringing his hands.

“I know it’s not your style, but…”

“No, I love it,” Crowley hurried to say. He did not add _“because it’s so very you.”_ , but he wanted to. He frowned at how nervous Aziraphale appeared.

Aziraphale walked up to him, slow and hesitant, eyes cast downward. When he finally met Crowley’s eyes, he was blushing and biting his lips.

“I meant it, you know?” he said. “You’re a hero. What you did was very brave.”

Swallowing, Crowley put a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder.

“Stop acting like you were not.”

Aziraphale sighed.

“After the stone was destroyed, I was at wit’s end,” he said. “Sure, I tried to keep Anathema safe, but not because I thought we could still win. I thought the best we could hope for was not to die. I felt so powerless.”

“At first, I did, too,” Crowley admitted. “Then I thought about you. Well, I thought about you before of course. But I remembered what you had said about Iphigenia - Goethe’s Iphigenia. How she had no higher power, no god coming to her aid and she just saved herself. With what she had at her disposal and it worked even though she seemingly did not have much at her disposal. I had no higher power either, no more magic stones. But I had a couple of ghost allies and a stake.”

Aziraphale beamed at him.

“You really recalled our conversation?” he asked. “About responsibility and taking our lives in your own hands?”

“I sure did,” Crowley nodded as his heart skipped a beat at Aziraphale’s smile. “I expected no gods to save us so I thought I would try myself. Nobody’s powerless, right?”

Their hands found each other. Feeling Aziraphale’s soft fingers entwined with his own again almost made Crowley dizzy. 

He was unsure what to do now. He knew what he wanted to do of course. He wanted to use their locked hands to pull Aziraphale close and steal a deep passionate kiss. But knowing himself that would only lead to him getting horny and pushy. And that would not do. No going too fast this time.

Crowley would get out of Aziraphale’s hair now and ask him to see a movie or have dinner tomorrow. Yes, great plan.

“Azira…” “Crowley, I…”

They chuckled as they started talking simultaneously. 

“You first,” Aziraphale said.

“I was just about to say that I should go, so you first.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale’s face fell. “Nevermind then… I… wanted… nevermind.”

“Nonsense, I have the five minutes.”

“Maybe.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a weak smile. “I actually wanted to ask for more than five minutes. I was about to ask if you’d stay the night. Being alone now… but that’s stupid, I’m a big boy, I will be fine.”

“It’s no problem!” Crowley said quickly. Aziraphale needed him. Crowley could not leave now. And that was fine. He was absolutely capable of controlling himself, leaving his hands to himself and taking his time. He did not have to be home to go slowly, could go slowly right here, right next to Aziraphale with the sweet smell in his nose and the cute butt in front of his eyes. No problem at all.

“Really?” Aziraphale asked. 

“Sure. Italian?” Crowley grabbed his phone. “I’m buying.”

“Sounds fantastic!” Aziraphale said. “Pasta for me. You know what I like.”

“I do,” Crowley said and watched how Aziraphale turned to set the table with a happy wiggle.

Crowley gulped. No problem at all.

*

Dinner was lovely. Crowley had found out that the Italian restaurant down the street was delivering and the food had arrived quickly.

While they were eating, they fell back into easy conversation, switching between talking and bickering. Almost like in the past.

When they cleaned the table and did the dishes together, Aziraphale allowed himself to pretend for a while.

“I’d suggest a movie night,” Crowley said as he put the last plate away. “But I saw you have no TV. You could have asked me, you know, if you couldn’t aff…”

“I have a TV,” Aziraphale interrupted. “It’s in the bedroom not the living room. I rarely watch TV. If I do, it’s usually to come down after a long day. That works fine in bed.”

“Oh.” Crowley turned his back to Aziraphale and cleared his throat.

Considering his options, Aziraphale pressed his lips together. He did not know what Crowley wanted, what he felt. But Aziraphale knew what he himself wanted and felt. Maybe it was time to take initiative instead of waiting for Crowley to do that.

“We… could get cosy,” Aziraphale suggested. “You can borrow a pair of my pyjamas, we get comfortable and watch Netflix.”

For long seconds Crowley did not answer, but then he looked at Aziraphale and smiled.

“Sure. Sounds… erm… nice.”

Aziraphale tried to hide the hurt Crowley’s hesitation caused. 

“We don’t have to do this,” he said quietly.

“What?”

“Movie night in bed together. If you’re uncomfortable, I’m sure we can manage to get the TV running in the living room. Or we can call it a night. You can have the bed, I’ll take the couch.”

“What?” Crowley sat up. “What makes you say that? I love the idea. Cosy bed, snacks, a movie,... you.”

“Me? Are you sure?”

*

“Me? Are you sure?”

Crowley’s chin dropped.

“Of course! Why would you doubt that?” he asked.

Averting his gaze, Aziraphale wrung his hands.

“Ghan’lach… he said something,” Aziraphale whispered.

“Yeah, ’course he did,” Crowley grumbled. “Dude really loved his own voice. Well, and apparently Newt’s.”

“I know he just wanted to hurt me,” Aziraphale continued as if he had not heard Crowley.

“What did he say?”

“He told me that the offer he made to you was...me,” Aziraphale said with a sad smile. “Earlier you had told me that he offered you the wrong thing.”

“Aziraphale, I…”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Aziraphale interrupted. “He wanted me to believe that you don’t care about me and obviously that is not true.”

“Of course not! I care about you a lot!” Crowley stepped closer and cupped Aziraphale’s cheek.

“I know,” Aziraphale said, sniffling. “But as a friend, I guess? Not like… you know… before? That’s fine. I mean, I still love you, but I understand if I’m not what you want. If you just want to be friends, alright. Or something casual maybe? Because…”

“No, no, no, angel!” Crowley said. “As you said, Ghan’lach wanted to hurt you. That’s why he bent the truth. It’s true, he offered that I could be with you. He promised to make me part of his inner circle and make you obey me. I did not want that.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips and smiled.

“I always was under the impression you like it when I obey you.”

Laughing, Crowley ran a hand through Aziraphale’s soft hair.

“Oh, I do,” he admitted. “Very much so. But firstly, I want you to decide freely that you want to obey me and secondly, I only want this in certain… situations.”

“Like… in your office?”

Damn. Crowley felt his cock twitch as Aziraphale reminded him of their encounter on his desk.

“Yes,” he said hoarsely. “Like that. But I really think we should go at a lower pace this time.”

“Okay.” Aziraphale nodded. “I’ll prepare movie night then.”

Crowley went to the bathroom for a moment to calm down. When he joined Aziraphale in the bedroom, Aziraphale was just unfolding the legs of the bed tray Crowley had gifted to him once.

“You still have that?” Crowley pointed at the tray.

“Yes, of course,” Aziraphale said. “I know you don’t like eating in bed because of the crumbs, but you also don’t like movie night without snacks so maybe with this thing we can have snacks in bed and at least minimize the crumb problem.”

“Yeah, erm, maybe.”

Aziraphale smiled and rushed to his closet where he fished out a pair of pyjamas.

“I know they’re not up to your standard and probably too wide,” he said bashfully as he handed them to Crowley. “But maybe for one night...”

“They’re fine,” Crowley said while he took the combination from Aziraphale’s hand. He bit his tongue as not to add _“But I like them better on you and even more on the floor when I ripped them off.”_

“Good,” Aziraphale said, wringing his hands. “Oh! Beverages! I hope I have wine you like. Else I could make a quick run to the store.”

With that he was out of the room again and Crowley heard him rummage through a cupboard. 

“Can I have beer instead, please?” Crowley called over because he had seen beer in the refrigerator. No way, he would have Aziraphale go to the store after dark.

“Oh, sure, dear!”

Crowley hated this. Crowley hated how Aziraphale fell over himself to please Crowley. He hated to see how much he had made Aziraphale believe he was too boring, too messy, too unfashionable. Somebody like Aziraphale should never have the feeling to be not good enough.

This convinced him more than ever of his plan. A slow and sweet courtship with lovely dates was perfect to make Aziraphale see his worth. He deserved it.

So when Aziraphale returned, Crowley - like a perfect gentleman- asked for a spare blanket, waited for Aziraphale to slip under his covers and then made himself comfortable on the free side.

Aziraphale frowned, but said nothing.

“What?” Crowley asked.

“It’s nothing.”

“Aziraphale.”

“I just… it was a very scary Halloween,” Aziraphale said. “And I had hoped, you’d… I don’t know, come a bit closer. But I respect that you want to take it slowly. I will prove myself to you so that you know…”

“You will _what_ now?” Crowley sat up so fast that he felt lightheaded.

“Erm, prove myself? You know, to win you back,” Aziraphale said, confused by Crowley’s reaction. “I know I have a lot of habits that get on your nerves and I’m often not adventurous enough, but I can change.”

Growling, Crowley cast his caution and his resolve in the wind. In one smooth and quick motion he pushed aside his blanket, slid over to the other bedside and pinned Aziraphale down. Large blue eyes looked up at him in shock and surprise, but Crowley just bent down and pressed a hungry kiss on Aziraphale’s lips.

“I love you, angel,” he whispered when he finally pulled away. “Never doubt that you are exactly what I want. Whatever I said in the past that made you believe otherwise, I’m sorry. You’re fucking perfect, Aziraphale, and I’m just an idiot who doesn’t deserve you but wants you anyway because I’m also a greedy bastard.”

“But you said…”

“Yes! I want to take it slowly because _you_ deserve that _I_ win you back,” Crowley said. “Dinner dates, the theatre, movies, whatever you want.”

“Oh, but Crowley, you don’t have to win me back,” Aziraphale said. “You have me still. I’m all yours.”

Damn. Aziraphale was making it real hard for Crowley not to ravage him. To distract himself from his twitching cock, Crowley sat up and pulled Aziraphale with him.

“Yes, but I don’t deserve you,” he said, caressing Aziraphale’s cheek. “I made you feel bad about yourself and I have to make up for this. I forced you into clubs, on parties and nagged about your mess. But I love you as you are.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “You know that not everything you got me to do was bad, right? Nightclubs are really not my thing, but a lot of the parties you dragged me to, I really liked. It was good for me to get out more. And it really wouldn’t hurt me to be a bit more organized.”

Hearing this took a huge weight from Crowley’s heart. He still felt bad about how he had often approached Aziraphale, but at least Aziraphale did not remember every activity Crowley had picked in a bad light.

“I really miss going out with you,” Aziraphale said.

“I miss staying in with you,” Crowley smiled.

“Sounds like something we can solve together.”

“It really does.”

Crowley put his arms around Aziraphale and pulled him close. Sighing in contentment he breathed in Aziraphale’s smell while Aziraphale nuzzled his nose against Crowley's throat.

They decided to forgo the movie. Instead they slipped underneath the blanket (the same one), Aziraphale lay on his side with Crowley pressed against his back, holding him from behind.

Now with no more unspoken words, they fell into easy conversation again, covering different topics. All the things that they would have shared with each other during their relationship, but could not while they were separated. 

When Aziraphale spoke about how he gave up his bookshop, Crowley soothingly kissed his lover’s neck. He did not say much but for a moment considered buying the building in which the shop was to get it back for Aziraphale. Crowley knew Aziraphale would not want that so he pushed the thought aside.There would be other ways to make Aziraphale happy and Crowley would find them.

Meanwhile, Aziraphale had fallen silent, apparently no longer wanting to talk about his shop and Crowley respected this. Maybe he was just tired.

But then Aziraphale broke the silence again.

“Crowley?” he asked.

“Hmmm?”

Aziraphale’s soft butt suddenly pressed firm against Crowley’s crotch.

“Do you think we can start taking it slowly tomorrow?”

*

In anticipation Aziraphale stared into the half-lit room, Crowley pressed against him from behind. There was a notable bulge in the pyjama pants Aziraphale had lent Crowley, indicating that Crowley’s resolve was crumbling. 

Crowley’s muffled groans suggested that he was currently hiding in the pillows. But Aziraphale just kept up his not so subtle movements until he felt Crowley’s breath in his neck. The large hand that so far had rested on Aziraphale’s waist started to wander while Crowley’s lips brushed against the back of Aziraphale’s neck.

Aziraphale barely stifled a sob. Crowley was back! Crowley was back with Aziraphale, held him and protected him.

Suddenly the last 6 months appeared as a mere nightmare, culminating in the true nightmare they had experienced on the 13th floor last night. 

Wishing he could sink even deeper in Crowley’s arms, Aziraphale pressed himself tighter against his lover’s lean chest.

“Please,” Aziraphale whispered in a shaky voice.

“Angel?” Crowley nuzzled his nose in the slope of Aziraphale’s shoulder, concern in his tone.

“Just… I need you, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “Please, only tonight.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, Aziraphale,” Crowley chuckled. “But do you really think I could keep my hands off you if I have you tonight?”

“Would that be so bad?” Aziraphale asked.

“We talked about this maybe an hour ago,” Crowley chided him. “I want to woo you, spoil you, take you out…”

“Yes, I remember,” Aziraphale interrupted. “But can’t you woo me and still fuck me?”

Teeth dug into Aziraphale’s shoulder, only lightly but a token of Crowley’s fading resolve. Aziraphale moaned as Crowley’s grip got tighter, a possessive gesture like the bite. Crowley’s erection pressed hard against Aziraphale’s arse, Aziraphale’s own cock twitching with interest.

“Angel,” Crowley groaned in his ear, a low and feral sound that Aziraphale felt to his core.

“How about a compromise,” Aziraphale said as casually as he could muster in his growing arousal. “You take _it_ slowly during the day and take _me_ slowly in the night.”

“Angel,” Crowley repeated, now rubbing his crotch against Aziraphale’s arse cheeks.

“Please,” Aziraphale only said and was fully prepared to say it again and again, knowing that Crowley loved to hear him beg.

Tonight, however, this was not necessary.

With a muttered “Minx.” Crowley threw off the blanket and pulled down Aziraphale’s pants, revealing his butt. The bedroom was warm and still Aziraphale shivered as he was presented to Crowley who commented the view with an appreciative hum.

Alternating between stroking and kneading, Crowley gave Aziraphale’s arse cheeks his full attention. Aziraphale sighed under the touches, the tender and the rough, and threw back his head. 

Crowley chuckled and pressed a kiss on Aziraphale’s head. Tonight apparently not in the mood to make Aziraphale wait and beg, Crowley let one of his hands wander over to Aziraphale’s erection and let his fingertips dance along the shaft.

“Eager, aren’t you?” he teased.

Aziraphale nodded frantically and again was ready to plead, but all air was knocked out of his lungs as Crowley without hesitation circled his clever fingers around Aziraphale’s cock. At some point, Crowley must have gotten rid of his pants for Aziraphale felt his lover’s unclothed member rubbing against his bare skin.

In synch with his strokes along Aziraphale’s manhood, Crowley rolled his hips, moving his own erection between Aziraphale’s butt cheeks.

“God, I missed your arse, angel,” he growled.

While Aziraphale wanted to give a cheeky reply, he could not. Crowley’s hands and cock had reduced him to moans, whimpers and sighs, unable to do anything but nod along whenever Crowley spoke.

“You like that, hm, angel?”

“Eager little thing.”

“You feel so good, angel.”

Finally Aziraphale managed to press out one coherent sentence which consisted of three words.

“Fuck me, please,” he breathed.

Crowley hummed.

“Sounds like a good idea,” he said. “You got something?”

“My drawer.”

Crowley moved away, leaving a trail of precum on Aziraphale’s arse and back. 

As Crowley returned, Aziraphale heard a cap being opened and soon felt Crowley’s hands on him again. Carefully Crowley spread Aziraphale’s butt cheeks and started circling around the entrance with a wet finger.

While he prepared Aziraphale, he cleared his throat several times before finally speaking.

“I know I have no right to ask,” he said quietly. “But why is there lube in your nightstand?”

“Why was lube in your desk?”

Crowley snickered.

“Fair enough,” he said. “I bought it after you sucked me off in the basement. I hoped to have more office sex with you.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, shivering at the thought and at Crowley’s fingers in his arse. “I bought mine out of habit. It wasn’t until I put it in the drawer that I realized I had nobody to use it on me.”

“I’m sure with that,” with his free hand Crowley applied a tender slap to Aziraphale’s butt, “you would have found someone.”

“Maybe, but I didn’t want anyone else.”

“Me neither, angel.”

Tenderly Crowley kissed along Aziraphale’s neck as he finished preparation. By now both their cocks were throbbing and dripping and neither wanted to wait any longer.

Lining up his manhood up with Aziraphale’s entrance, Crowley put a firm hand on Aziraphale’s hip to keep him in place. With a shout of lust, hunger and desparation he pushed in, a sound that was echoed by Aziraphale.

Aziraphale dug his nails into the mattress to ground himself as his lover’s cock filled him, the hot skin smooth against his inner walls. It did not take long for Crowley to find the right angle to hit the spot that made Aziraphale cry out in bliss.

It was perfect. The warm large hands wandering over his side, stomach and chest, greedy but full of adoration, the hot lips and sharp teeth leaving a trail of want on his neck and the cock moving inside him, making him feel wanted and loved - it all washed away the horrific night of Samhain as well as the painful past six months. At least for the moment.

They moved together as if they had never been apart. As their motions became faster, their breathing heavier and their moans loader, their hands found each other. Fingers entwined, they neared their peak.

“God, I love you,” Crowley growled in Aziraphale’s ear before coming inside him.

Aziraphale wailed as he felt Crowley’s hot semen fill his channel and with two more strokes of Crowley’s hand on his cock, Aziraphale followed him over the edge.

“Love you, too,” Aziraphale whispered when he could breathe again.

“I know, angel,” Crowley said. “Lucky me.”

Aziraphale soon drifted away, sated, safe and happy.

*

“You coming, angel?” Crowley called. “There is some time, but if we wanna make out in the car before the party, we should hurry.”

A second later, a desperate Aziraphale appeared in the frame of the door to the bedroom, with bare chest and tartan boxers.

Crowley tilted his head, hummed and nodded appreciatively.

“ _I_ like it,” he said. “But I’m not sure it meets the dress code.”

“Can you pick something for me?” Aziraphale asked. “I never know what to wear to these parties.”

Crowley laughed.

“You made the company a lot of money with ‘Blood Money’. I’m sure you can wear what you want. Erm...” Crowley gestured over Aziraphale’s current attire, “not that though.”

“This is serious, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t want to embarrass Ether&Abyss… or you.”

Inwardly Crowley cursed. He had sworn to himself never to try changing Aziraphale again, not his hobbies, his attire, his habits or anything. But now Aziraphale asked him to. With a sigh, Crowley walked up to Aziraphale and kissed his forehead.

“You wouldn’t,” he said. “Most of the people there have seen you in your usual clothes anyway. The others are there to meet authors, not fashion icons. Or because of the food. Actually, most of them will be there for the food.”

This somewhat seemed to calm Aziraphale down. He smiled but still dragged Crowley to the bedroom. 

Pointing at his wardrobe, he said, “I was going to wear the jeans and shirt you bought for me. Would that be alright?”

“I think you look great in it,” Crowley said genuinely. “But do you like it? In hindsight I feel like I pushed it on you.”

“Actually, I do like it,” Aziraphale said. “I admit, I was a bit insecure back then because…”

“...I made you feel like I did not like your usual style,” Crowley sighed.

“Yes.”

“But I do!” Crowley assured. “I like you in everything. I suppose that’s why I tried putting you in everything.”

Aziraphale giggled.

“That’s cute,” he said. “I’ll wear those then. Give me a minute and I’ll be ready.”

“By the way, do we have to pick up Anathema?”

“She’s coming with Newt.”

“Ohhh,” Crowley exclaimed. “Revival in paradise?”

“She decided to give him a chance - after letting him dangle for a few weeks,” Aziraphale smirked while he buttoned up his shirt.

“Because you told her to leave him dangling.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Of course not,” Crowley grinned, helping Aziraphale into his winter coat. “So we only have to drive her home if he screws up?”

“Pretty much.”

“Which means we _can_ make out in the car before the party,” Crowley said as he opened the door for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s ears reddened adorably, but he put on a very prim expression.

“Think of my carefully chosen attire.”

“I prefer thinking about what’s underneath.”

Bickering they stepped outside, taking each other’s hand before walking through the nightly town. What had occurred a few weeks ago at their workplace was still fresh in their minds, but together they could face the dark memories. 

The shadows of Halloween faded away. Thanks to time - and to bright christmas lights, streaming friendly through the windows, painting the streets in various beautiful colours. Almost - but not quite - like spring flowers.

  
  


The End

  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  



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